GERMANY;  ^ 


BAHONESS  STAKL.HOLSTEm, 


TRANSLATED  FR0:M  THE  FRENCH, 


THREE  VOLUJMES  IJV  r;.  U 


PUBLISHED  BY  EASTBLTIN,  KIRK  A:m3  C  I 

AT  TEE  LITEEAKT  ROOrtrs, 


1814, 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/germany21stae 


CONTENTS. 


CONTINUATION  OF  PART  SECOND. 

OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 

C'HAP.  XXIV.   Luther,  Attila^  The  Sons  of  the  Valley^ 
The  Cross  on  the  Baltic^  The  Tioenty -fourth  of 


G'ha  .  XXV.   Various  Pieces  of  the  German  and  Danish 

Theatre  =  19 

Ghap.  XXVI.  Of  Comedy  -       ,       -       .       .  30 

Chap.  XXVII.  Of  Declamation      -       -       ^       .       ►  42 

CfiAP.  XXVIII.  Of  JVovels  -  =  .  .  -  $Z 
Chap.  XXIX.  Of  German  Historians,  and  of  J.  de  Miil- 

ler  in  particular  „  75 

CuAP.  XXX.  Herder  82 
Chap.  XXXI  Of  the  Literary  Treasures  of  Germany,  and 

of  its  most  renormed  Critics,  A.  W.  and  F.  Schlegel  86 

Chap.  XXXII.  Of  the  Fine  Arts  in  Germany       -       -  97 

PART  THE  THIRD. 
PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 

Chap.  I.  Of  Philosophy  -  -  .  -  -  ,  109 
Chap.  11.  Of  English  Philosophy  -  .  -  .  H4 
Chap.  III.  Of  French  Philosophy  .       «       -       .  127 

Chap.  IV.  Of  the  Ridicide  introduced  by  a  certain  Species 

of  Philosophy     -        -        -        .        .        ,  . 
Chap.  V.  General  Observations  upon  German  Philosophy  141 
Chap.  VI.  Kant  I49 
Chap.  VU.  Of  the  most  celebrated  Philosophers  before  and 

after  Kant        -       -       .       .       .       .       ,  ^66 
Chap.  ^'  m.  Ivfnence  of  the  new  German  Philosophy  over 

the  Development  of  the  Mind     -      ^      .      .  182 


CONTE-NTS-, 


Chap.  IX.  Influence  of  the  new  German  Philosophy  on  Lit- 
erature and  the  Arts          -                            Page  186 
Chap.  X.  Lifluence  of  thenew  Philosophy  on  the  Sciences  192 
Chap.  XI.  Infiuence  of  tlie  new  Philosophy  upon  the  Char- 
acter of  the  Germans   204 

Chap.  Xn.  Of  the  moral  System^  founded  upon  persotial 

Interest  -       -  208 

Chap.  XIII.  Of  the  moral  System  founded  upon  JVational 

Interest   214 

Chap.  XIV.  Of  the  Principle  of  JMorals  in  the  new  Ger- 
man Philosop/ty  -  223 

Chap.  XV.  Of  scientific  Morality     -       -       -       -  229 

Chap.  XVI.  Jacobi  -       -  232 

Chap.  XVII.  Of  Woldemar   237 

Chap.  XVIII.  Of  a  ro7nantic  Bias  in  the  Affections  of  the 

Heart  -       -       -  239 

Chap.  XIX.  Of  Love  in  MarHage    -       -       -       -  243 
Chap.  XX  JModern  Writers  of  the  ancient  School  in  Ger- 
many  -  249 

Chap.  XXI.  Of  Ignorance  and  Frivolity  of  Spirit  in  their 

Eelations  to  Morals   255 

PART  THE  FOURTH. 

RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 

Chap.  I.  General  Considerations  upon  Religionin  Germany  261 

Chap.  11.  Of  Protestantism          _       .        _       -       .  267 

Chap.  III.  Moravian  Mode  of  TVorsMp      •       -       -  275 

Chap.  IV.  Of  Catholicism    ------  279 

Chap.  V.  Of  the  reIigio7is  Disposition  called  Mysticism  288 

Chap.  VI.  Of  Pain   299 

Chap,  VII.  Of  the  religious  Philosophers  called  Theosophists  307 

Chap.  VIII.  Of  the  Spirit  of  Sectarismiii  Germany       -  310 

Chap.  IX.  Of  the  Contemplation  of  JVature           -       -  317 

Chap.  X.  Of  Enthusiasm   328 

Chap.  XI.  Of  the  Infuence  of  Enthxisiasm  on  Learning  332 

Chap.  XII.  Influence  of  Enthusiasm  upon  Happiness'.     -  337 


PART  IL 


iCONTINUED.) 


OF 


LITERATURE  x\ND  THE  ARTS. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Luther^  Attila^  The  Sons  of  the  Valley^  The  Cross  on 
the  Baltic^  The  T%v  en  ty -fourth  of  February^  by  Wer- 
ner. 


Since  Schiller  is  no  more,  and  Goethe  has  ceased 
to  write  for  the  stage,  the  first  dramatic  author  of  Ger- 
many is  Werner  :  nobody  has  known  better  than  he 
how  to  throw  over  tragedy  the  charm  and  the  dignity 
of  lyric  poetry  ;  nevertheless,  that  which  renders  him 
so  admirable  as  a  poet,  is  prejudicial  to  his  success  in 
the  representation.  His  pieces,  which  are  of  a  rare 
beauty,  if  we  look  only  at  the  songs,  the  odes,  the  reli 
gious  and  philosophical  sentiments  that  abound  in  themj 
are  extremely  open  to  attack,  when  considered  as  dra- 
mas for  action.  It  is  not  that  Werner  is  deficient  in 
theatrical  talent,  or  even  that  he  is  not  much  better 
acquainted  with  its  effects  than  the  generality  of  Ger* 

VOL.  II.  A 


6 


GF  LITERATURE  AND  Tim  ARTS. 


man  writers  ;  but  it  seems  as  if  he  wished  to  propa- 
gate a  mystical  system  of  love  and  religion  by  the  help 
of  the  dramatic  art,  and  that  his  tragedies  are  the 
means  he  makes  use  of,  rather  than  the  end  he  propo- 
ses to  himself. 

"  Luther,"  though  entirely  composed  with  this  se- 
cret intention,  has  met  with  the  greatest  success  on 
the  stage  of  Berlin.  The  reformation  is  an  event  of 
high  importance  for  the  world,  and  particularly  for 
Germany,  which  was  its  cradle.  The  hardihood  and 
reflective  heroism  of  Luther's  character  make  a  lively 
impression,  especially  in  a  country  where  thought 
fills  up  by  itself  alone  all  the  measure  of  existence  : 
no  subject,  then,  is  capable  of  m-ore  strongly  exciting 
the  attention  of  Germans. 

Whatever  regards  the  effect  of  the  new  opinions  on 
the  minds  of  men,  is  extremely  well  painted  in  this 
play  of  Werner's.  The  scene  opens  in  the  mines  of 
Saxony,  not  far  from  Wittemberg,  the  dwelling-ptace 
of  Luther:  the  song  of  the  miners  captivates  the  im- 
agination ;  the  burthen  of  this  song  is  always  an  ad- 
dress to  the  upper  earth,  the  free  air,  and  the  sun. 
These  uneducated  men,  already  laid  hold  of  by  Lu- 
ther's doctrine,  discourse  together  about  him  and 
about  the  reiormation  ;  and,  in  the  obscurity  of  their 
subterraneous  abodes,  employ  their  minds  about  lib- 
erty of  conscience,  the  er^quiry  after  truth,  this  new 
day,  in  short,  this  new  light,  that  is  to  penetrate  the 
darkness  of  ignorance. 

In  the  second  act,  the  agents  of  the  Elector  of  Sax- 
pny  come  to  throw  open  to  the  nuns  the  doors  of  their 
convents.  This  scene  which  might  be  rendered  com- 
ic, is  treated  with  an  affecting  solemnity.  Werner  in- 
timately com.prehends  ail  the  diversities  of  Christian 
worship  ;  and  if  he  rightly  corxeives  the  noble  simpli- 
city of  Protestantism,  he  also  knows  the  severe  sanc- 
tity of  vows  made  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  The  ab- 
bess of  the  convent,  in  casting  off  the  veil  which  had 
covered  the  dark  ringlets  of  her  youth,  and  now  con- 
ceals her  whitened  locks,  expe?  iences  a  sentiment  of 
alarm  at  once  pathetic  and  natural ;  and  expresses  her 


OF  THE  DRA^iAS  OF  A^TLRNER. 


■7 


sorrow  in  verses  harmonious  aiul  pure  as  the  solitude 
of  her  religious  retirement  Among-  these  female  re- 
cluses is  she  who  is  afterwards  to  be  united  to  Lutner, 
and  she  is  at  that  moinent  the  most  adverse  of  ail  to 
his  infmeace. 

Among  the  beauties  of  this  act.  must  be  reckoned 
the  portrait  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  of  that  sovereign 
whose  soul  is  weary  of  the  empire  of  the  world.  A 
Saxon  gentleman  attached  to  his  service  thus  expres- 
ses himself  concerning  him  :  "  This  gigantic  man," 
he  says,  '»  has  do  heart  enclosed  within  his  frightful 
"  breast.    The  thunderbolt  of  the  Almighty  is  in  his 

hand  ;  but  he  knows  not  how  to  join  with  it  the 
"  apotheosis  of  love.  He  is  like  the  young  eagle  that 
"  grasps  the  entire  globe  of  earth  in  one  of  his  talons, 
"  and  is  about  to  devour  it  for  his  food.''  These  few 
words  are  worthy  to  announce  Charles  the  Fifth  ;  but 
it  is  more  easy  to  paint  such  a  character,  thau  to  make 
it  speak  for  itself. 

Luther  trusts  to  the  word  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  al- 
though a  hundred  years  before,  at  the  Council  of  Con- 
stance, John  Huss  and  Jerome  of  Prague  had  been 
burnt  alive,  notwithstanding  the  safe  conduct  of  the 
Emperor  Sigism.und.  On  the  eve  of  repairing  to 
Worms,  where  the  Diet  of  the  Empire  is  held,  Lu- 
ther's courage  fails  him  for  a  few  moments  ;  he  feels 
himself  seized  v.-ith  terror  and  misgiving.  His  young 
disciple  brings  him  the  fiute  on  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  play  to  restore  his  depressed  spirits ;  he 
takes  it,  and  its  harmonious  concords  reproduce  in  his 
heart  all  that  confidence  in  God,  whicli  is  the  wonder 
of  spiritual  existence.  It  is  said  that  this  moment  ex- 
cited great  sensation  on  the  Berlin  stage,  and  it  is  easy 
to  conceive  it.  Words,  however  beautiful,  cannot  ef- 
fect 50  sudden  a  change  of  our  inward  disposition  as 
music;  Luther  considered  it  as  an  art  appertaining  to 
theology,  and  powerfully  conducive  to  the  deveiop- 
inent  of  religious  sentiment,  in  the  human  heart. 

The  part  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  in  the  Diet  oi  Worms, 
is  not  exempt  from  affectation,  and  is  consequently 
wanting  in  grandeur.    The  author  has  attempted  to 


8  OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


?piit  in  opposition  the  pride  of  the  Spaniards  and  the 
rude  sitnpjicity  of  theGernians;  but,  besides  that, 
Charles  the  Fifth  was  endowed  with  too  vast  a  g-enius 
to  belong  either  to-  tliis  or  that  nation  exclusively,  it 
seems  to  me  that  Werner  should  have  taken  care  not 
to  represent  a  rnan,  of  an  arbitrary  will,  as  openly,  and 
above  ail  uselessly,  proclaiming  that  wili.  It  loses 
itself,  as  it  were  by  beine^  expressed  ;  and  despotic 
sovereigns  have  always  excited  more  fear  by  what  they 
concealed  than  by  what  they  displayed  to  sight. 

Werner,  with  all  the  wildness  of  his  imagination, 
possesses  a  very  acute  and  a  very  observing  mind  ;  but 
it  seems  to  me  that,  in  the  part  of  Charles  the  Fifth, 
lie  has  made  use  of  colours  that  are  not  varied  like 
those  of  nature. 

One  of  the  fine  situations  of  this  play,  is  the  pro- 
cession 10  the  Diet  of  the  bishops,  the  cardinals,  and 
all  the  pomp  of  the  Catholic  religion  on  one  side  ;  and 
of  Luther,  Melancthon,  and  some  of  their  disciples  of 
the  reformed  fahh,  clothed  in  black,  and  singing  in 
their  na  ional  tongue  the  canticle,  beginning.  Our  God 
■2s  our  place  of  strength^  on  the  other.  External  mag» 
nificence  has  often  been  boasted  as  a  means  of  acting 
upon  the  imagination  ;  but  when  Christianity  displays 
itself  in  its  pure  and  genuine  simplicity,  that  poetry 
Avhich  speaks  from  the  bottom  of  the  soul  bears  the 
palm  from  ali  others. 

The  act  in  which  Luther  pleads  in  presence  of 
Charles  the  Fifth,  the  princes  of  the  empire,  and  the 
diet,  opens  with  the  discourse  of  Luther;  but  only 
its  peroration  is  heard,  because  he  is  judged  to  have 
already  said  all  that  concerns  his  doctrine.  After  he 
lias  spoken,  the  opinioiis  of  the  princes  and  deputies 
are  collected  respecting  his  suit.  The  different  inter- 
ests by  which  men  are  agitated,  fear,  fanaticism,  am  = 
bition,  are  all  perfectly  characterised  in  these  opinions.. 
One  of  the  voters,  among  others,  says  much  in  favour 
of  Luther  and  of  his  doctrine  ;  but  he  adds,  at  the 
same  time,  "  that,  since  all  the  world  affirms  that  the 

empire  is  troubled  by  it,  he  is  of  opinion,  though 
«  much  against  his  inclination,  that  Luther  ought  to 


O?  THE  DRAMAS  OF  -WERNEH. 


9 


<^  be  burnt."  One  cannot  help  admiring,  in  the  works 
of  Werner,  the  perfect  knowieds;c  of  mankind  thai 
he  possesses,  and  it  were  to  be  wished  that  he  would 
descend  fr©m  his  reveries  a  little  oftener,  and  place 
his  foot  on  the  earth  to  deveiope  in  his  dramatic  wri- 
tings that  observing:  spirit. 

Luther  is  dismissed  by  Charles  the  Fifth,  and  shut 
up  for  some  time  in  the  fortress  of  Wurtzburg,  be- 
cause his  friends,  with  the  Elector  of  Saxony  at  iheir 
head,  believed  him  to  be  more  secure  there.  He  re- 
•appears  at  las<.  in  Wittenberg,  where  he  has  estab- 
lished his  doctrine,  as  well  as  throughout  the  North  of 
Germany. 

Towards  the  conclusion  of  the  filth  act,  Luther 
preaches  in  the  middle  of  the  night  in  the  church 
against  ancient  errors.  He  announces  their  speedy 
disappearance,  and  the  new  day  of  reason  that  is  about 
to  dawn.  At  this  instant  on  the  stage  of  Berlin,  the 
tapers  are  seen  to  go  out  one  after  another,  and  the 
first  break  of  morning  appears  through  the  windows 
of  the  Gothic  cathedral. 

The  drama  of  Luther  is  so  animated,  so  varied, 
that  it  is  easy  to  conceive  how  it  must  have  ravished 
all  the  spectators  ;  nevertheless  we  are  often  distracted 
from  the  principal  idea  by  singularities  and  allegories, 
which  are  ill  suited  to  a  historical  subject,  and  partic- 
ularly so  to  theatrical  representation. 

Catherine,  on  perceiving  Luther,  whom  she  de- 
tested, exclaims  : — "  he  is  my  ideal  1"  and  immedi- 
ately the  most  violent  love  takes  possession  of  her 
soul.  Werner  believes  that  there  is  predestination  in 
jove,  and  that  beings  who  are  made  for  each  other, 
recognize  at  first  sight.  I'his  is  a  very  agreeable  doc- 
trine of  metaphysics,  and  adnnrably  well  fitted  for 
madrigals,  but  which  would  hardly  be  comprehended 
on  the  stage  ;  besides  nothing  can  be  more  strange 
than  this  exclamation  of  idealism  as  addressed  to 
Martin  Luther ;  for  he  is  represented  to  us  as  a  fat 
monk,  learned  and  scholastic,  very  ill  suited  to  have 
applied  to  him  the  most  romantic  expression  that 
can  be  borrowed  from  the  modern  theory  of  the  fine 
arts, 


16  OF  LITERATURE  AND  Tlffi  ARTS.  | 

Two  ang'els,  under  the  form  of  a  youn^  mars,  tho 
disciple  of  Luther,  and  a  yoiinj^  girl,  the  friend  of 
Catherine,  seem  to  pass  through  the  whole  perform- 
ance with  hyacinths  and  ])alms,  9s  symbols  of  puri- 
ty and  of  faith.  These  two  ang-els  disappear  at  the 
end,  and  the  imag-ination  follows  them  into  the  air  i 
but  the  pathetic  is  less  strongly  felt  when  fanciful  pic- 
tures are  made  use  ot  to  embellish  the  situation  ;  it 
is  a  new  sort  of  pleasure,  no  longer  that  to  which  the 
emotions  of  the  soul  give  birth:  for  compassion  ccn- 
iiot  exist  without  sympathy.  We  wish  to  judge  of 
characters  on  the  stage  as  of  really  existing  persons  ; 
to  censure  or  approve  their  actions,  to  guess  them, 
to  comprehend  ihem,  to  transport  ourselves  into  their 
places,  so  as  to  experience  all  the  interest  of  real  life, 
"without  dreading  its  dangers. 

The  opinions  of  Werner,  in  respect  to  love  and  re- 
ligion, ought  not  to  be  slightly  examined.  What  he 
feels  is  assuredly  true  for  him  ;  but  since,  in  these  rc" 
spects  particularly,  every  individual  has  a  different 
point  of  view  and  different  impressions,  it  is  not  right 
that  an  author  should  make  an  art  which  is  essentially 
universal  and  popular,  conduce  to  the  propagation  of 
bis  own  personal  opinions. 

Another  very  fine  and  very  original  production  of 
Werner's  is  liis  "  Attila."  The  author  takes  up  the 
history  of  this  scourge  of  God  at  the  moment  of  his 
appearance  before  the  gates  of  Rome.  The  first  act 
opens  with  the  lamentations  of  women  and  childreru 
who  have  just  escaped  from  the  ashes  of  Aquileia  * 
and  this  exposition-into  action  not  only  excites  interest 
from  the  first,  but  gives  a  terrible  idea  of  the  power 
of  Attila.  It  is  a  necessary  art  for  the  stage,  to  make 
known  the  principal  characters,  rather  by  the  effect 
they  produce  on  those  about  the'm,  than  by  a  portrait, 
how  striking  soever.  A  single  man,  multiplied  by 
those  who  obey  him,  fills  Asia  and  Europe  with  con- 
sternation. Wiiat  a  gigantic  image  of  despotic  will 
does  this  spectacle  afford  us. 

Next  to  the  character  of  Attila  is  that  of  a  prin- 
ces of  Burgundy,  Hiidegonde,  wiio  is  ab®ut  to  be 


tJF  THE  DRAMAS  OP  WEENER. 


u 


iinited  to  him,  and  by  whom  he  imagines  himself  be= 
loved.  This  princess  harbours  a  deep  feeiing-  of  ven- 
geance against  him  for  the  deaths  of  her  father  and 
lover.  She  is  resolved  to  marry,  only  that  she  may 
assassinate  him;  and,  by  a  singular  refinement  of  ha* 
tred,  she  nurses  him  when  wounded,  that  he  may  not 
die  the  honourable  deatli  of  a  soldier.  This  woman  is 
painted  like  the  goddess  of  war;  her  fair  hair  and  her 
scarlet  vest  seem  to  unite  in  her  person  the  images 
of  weakness  and  fury.  It  is  a  mysterious  character, 
which  at  first  takes  strong  hold  on  the  imagination  ; 
but,  when  this  mystery  goes  on  continually  encreas-  - 
ing,  whcH  the  poet  gives  us  to  suppose  that  an  infer- 
nal power  has  obtained  possession  of  her,  and  that  not 
only,  at  the  end  of  the  piece,  she  immolates  Attila  on 
the  wedding  night,  but  stabs  his  son,  of  the  age  ot 
fourteen  years,  by  his  side,  this  creature  loses  all  the 
features  of  womanhood,  and  the  aversion  she  inspires 
gains  the  ascendency  over  the  terror  she  is  otherwise 
calculated  to  excite.  Nevertheless,  this  whole  part 
of  Hildegonde  is  an  original  invention  ;  and,  in  an  epic 
poem,  which  might  admit  of  allev  orical  personages, 
this  Fury  in  the  disguise  of  gentleness,  attached  to 
the  steps  of  a  tyrant,  like  perfidious  Flattery,  might 
doubtless  produce  a  grand  effect. 

At  last,  this  terribie  Attila  appears,  in  the  midst  of 
the  flames  that  have  consumed  the  city  of  Aquileia  ;  he 
seats  himself  on  the  ruins  of  tiie  palace  he  has  just  de- 
stroyed, and  seems  charged  w-itn  the  task  of  accom- 
plishing alone,  in  a  single  day,  the  work  of  ages.  He 
has  a  sort  of  superstition,  as  it  were,  that  centres  in  his 
own  person,  is  himself  the  object  of  his  own  worship, 
believes  in  himself,  regards  himself  as  the  instrument 
of  the  decrees  of  heaven,  and  this  conviction  mingles 
a  certain  system  of  equity  with  his  crimes.  He  re- 
proaciies  his  enem.ies  with  their  faults  as  if  he  had 
not  conmiitted  more  than  all  of  them  ;  he  is  a  ferocious, 
and  yet  a  generous  barbarian,  he  is  despotic,  anci  yet 
show^s  himself  faithful  to  his  word  ;  to  conclude,  in  the 
isaidst  of  ail  the  riches  of  the  warid  he  lives  a  soldier^ 


12  OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


and  asks  nothing  of  earth  but  the  enjoyment  of  sub« 
duing  her. 

Attila  performs  the  functions  of  a  judge  in  the  pub* 
lie  square,  and  there  pronounces  sentence  on  the  crimes 
that  are  brought  before  his  tribunal,  with  a  natural  in- 
stinct that  penetrates  deeper  into  the  principles  of  ac- 
tion than  abstract  laws,  which  decide  alike  upon  cases 
materially  different.  He  condemns  his  friend  who  is 
guilty  of  perjury,  embraces  him  in  tears,  but  orders 
that  he  shall  be  instantly  torn  to  pieces  by  horses  ;  he 
is  guided  by  the  notion  of  an  inflexible  necessity,  and 
his  own  will  appears  to  him  to  constitute  that  necessity. 
The  emotions  of  his  soul  have  a  sort  of  rapidity  and 
decision  which  excludes  all  shades  of  distinction  ;  it 
seems  as  if  that  soul  bore  itself  altogether,  with  the 
irresistible  impulse  of  physical  strength,  in  the  direc- 
tion It  follows.  At  last  they  bring  before  his  tribunal 
a  man  who  has  slain  his  brother  ;  having  himself  been 
guilty  of  the  same  crime,  he  is  strongly  agitated,  and 
refuses  to  be  the  judge  of  the  culprit.  Attila,  with 
all  his  transgressions,  believed  himself  charged  with 
the  accomplishment  of  the  divine  justice  on  earth, 
and,  when  called  upon  to  condemn  another  for  an  out- 
rage similar  to  that  by  which  his  own  life  has  been 
soiled,  somethmg  in  the  nature  of  remorse  takes  pos- 
session of  him  to  the  very  bottom  of  his  soul 

The  second  act  is  a  truly  admirable  representation 
of  the  court  of  Valentinian  at  Rome.  The  author 
brings  on  the  stage,  with  equal  sagacity  and  justice, 
the  frivolity  of  the  young  emperor,  who  is  not  turned 
aside  by  the  impending  ruin  of  his  empire  from  his  ac- 
customed range  of  dis->ipations  ;  the  insolence  of  the 
Empress-mother,  wno  knows  not  how  to  sacrifice  the 
least  portion  of  her  animosities  to  the  safety  oi  the 
stale,  and  who  abandons  herself  to  the  most  abject 
baseness,  the  moment  any  personal  danger  threatens 
her.  The  courtiers,  indefati  gable  in  ii.trigue,  sliii  seek 
each  other's  ruin  on  the  eve  of  the  ruin  of  all ;  and  an-, 
cient  Rome  is  punished  by  a  barbarian  for  the  tyranny 
she  exercised  over  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  this  picture 
is  wortiiy  of  a  poetical  historian  like  Tacitus. 


©F  THE  BH  ATvIAS  OF 


13 


In  the  midst  of  charactei  s  6o  true,  appears  Pope 
Leor  a  sublime  personage  furnished  by  history,  and 
the  princess  Honoria,  whose  inheritance  is  claimed  by 
Attila  for  the  purpose  of  restoring  it  to  her.  Honoria 
sec  ret  jy  imbibes  a  passionate  love  for  the  p.roud  con- 
queror whom  she  has  never  beheld,  but  whose  glory 
has  enflamcd  her  imagination.  We  see  that  the  au- 
thor's intention  has  been  to  make  Kildegonde  and  Ho- 
noria the  good  and  evil  genius  of  Attila ;  and  from  the 
moment  we  perceive  the  allegory  which  we  fancy  to  be 
wrapped  up  in  these  personages,  the  dramatic  interest 
•which  they  are  otherwise  calculated  to  inspire  grows 
co!d.  This  interest,  nevertheless,  is  admirably  reviv- 
ed in  many  scenes  of  the  play,  particularly  when  At- 
tila, after  having  defeat-  d  the  armies  of  ihe  emperor 
Valentinian,  marches  to  Rome,  and  meets  on  his  road 
Pope  Leo,  borne  in  a  litter,  and  preceded  by  ail  the 
pomp  of  the  priesthccd. 

Leo  calls  upon  him,  in  the  name  of  God,  to  abstain 
from  entering  the  eternal  city.  Attila  immediately  expe- 
riences a  religious  terror,  tiil  that  moment  a  stranger  to 
Ins  soul.  He  fancies  that  he  beholds  -  St.  Peter  in 
heaven,  standing  with  a  drawn  sword  to  prohibit  his  ad- 
vance. Tiiis  scene  is  the  subject  of  an  admirable  pic- 
ture of  Raphael's.  On  one  side,  a  calm  dignity  reigns 
in  the  figure  of  the  defenceless  old  man,  surrounded 
by  other  men,  who  all,  like  himself,  repose  with  con- 
fidence in  the  protection  of  God  ;  and  on  the  other, 
consternation  is  painted  on  the  formidable  countenance 
of  the  king  of  the  Huns  ;  his  very  horse  rears  v/ith 
afTright  at  the  blaze  of  celestial  raciiance,  and  the  sol- 
diers of  the  invincible  cast  down  their  eyes  before  the 
white  hairs  of  the  holy  man,  who  passes  without  fear 
through  the  midst  of  them. 

The  words  of  the  poet  finely  express  the  sublime 
design  of  the  painter;  the  discourse  of  Leo  is  an  in- 
spired lymn  ;  and  the  manner  in  which  the  conversion 
of  the  warrior  of  the  north  is  indicated  seems  to  me 
also  truly  admirable.  Attila,  his  eyes  turned  towards 
heaven,  and  contemplating  the  apparition  which  he 

TOL.  ir.  "  B 


J4 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


tliinks  he  beholds,  calls  Edecon,  one  of  the  chiefs  of 
his  army,  and  says  to  liim, 

"  Edecon,  dost  thou  not  perceive  there  on  high  a 
"  terrible  giajit?  Dost  thou  not  behold  him  even  above 
"  the  place  where  the  old  man  is  made  conspicuous  by  t 
"  the  refulgence  of  Heaven  ? 

EDECON. 

"  I  see  only  the  ravens  descending  in  troops  over 
the  dead  bodies  on  which  they  are  going  to  feed. 

ATTILA. 

<'  No  ;  it  is  not  a  phantom  :  perhaps  it  is  the  image  of 
"  him  who  is  alone  able  to  absolve  or  condemn.  Did 

not  the  old  man  predict  it  t  Behold  the  giant  whose 
^'  head  is  in  heaven,  and  whose  ieet  touch  the  earth  ; 
"  he  menaces  with  his  flames  the  spot  upon  which 
"  we  are  standing  ;  he  is  there,  before  us  ixjotionless  ; 
"  he  points  his  llaming  sword  against  me,  like  my 
"  judge. 

F.DECON. 

"  These  flames  are  the  light  of  heaven,  which  at 
«^  thTS  moment  gilds  the  domes  of  the  Roman  tern- 
s' pies. 

ATTILA. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  temple  of  gold,  studded  with  pearls, 
that  he  bears  upon  his  whitened  head  ;  in  one  hand 
"  he  hold  his  flaming  sword,  in  the  other  two  brazen 
"  keys,  encircled  with  flowers  and  rays  of  light  ;  two 
"  keys  that  the  giant  has  doul^tiess  received  from  the 
"  hands  of  Odin,  to  open  or  shut  the  gates  of  Val- 
«  haila." 

From  this  moment,  the  Christian  religion  operates 
on  the  soul  of  Attila,  in  spite  of  the  belief  of  his  an- 
cestors, and  he  commands  his  army  to  retreat  to  a, 
distance  from  Rome. 

The  tragedy  should  have  eiided  here,  and  it  already 
contains  a  suflicicnt  number  of  beauties  to  furnish  out 
many  regular  pieces  ;  but  a  fifth  act  is  added,  in  which 
Leo,  who,  for  a  Pope,  is  much  too  deeply  initiated  in 
the  mystic  theory  of  love,  conducts  the  princess  Ho- 
Roria  to  Attiia's  cam.p,  on  the  very  night  in  v/hiclv 
Hildegondc  marries  and  assassinates  him. 


m  THE  DEAMAS  O?  WERNER. 


15 


The  Pope,  who  has  a  foreknowledge  of  this  event, 
predicts  without  preventing-  it,  because  it  is  necessary 
that  the  fate  of  Attila  should  be  accomplished.  Ho- 
noria  and  Pope  Leo  offer  up  prayers  for  him  on  the 
stage.  The  piece  ends  with  a  Hallelujah^  and,  rising 
to  heaven  like  a  poetical  incense,  evaporates  instead 
of  being  concluded. 

Werner's  versification  is  full  of  admirable  secrets 
of  harmony,  l)ut  we  cannot  giver  in  a  translation  any 
idea  of  its  merit  in  this  respect.  I  remember,  ampng 
other  things  in  one  of  his  tragedies,  the  subject  of 
which  is  taken  from  Polish  liistory,  the  wondeiful  ef- 
fect of  a  chorus  of  young  phantoms  appearing  in  the 
air  :  the  poet  has  found  means  to  change  the  German 
into  a  soft  and  tender  language,  which  these  wearied 
and  uninterested  shades  articulate  with  half  formed 
tones  ;  all  the  words  they  pronounce,  all  the  rhymes 
of  the  verses,  seem  like  vapour.  The  sense  of  the 
words. also,  is  admirably  adapted  to  the  situation  ;  they 
paint  a  state  of  frigid  repose,  of  dull  indifference  ;  they 
reverberate  the  distant  echoes  of  life,  and  the  pale  re- 
flection of  faded  impressions  casts  a  veil  of  clouds  over 
universal  nature. 

If  Werner  admits  into  his  tragedies  the  shades  of 
the  departed,  v.'e  sometimes  also  find  in  them  fantastic 
personages  that  seem  not'yet  to  have  received  any  earth- 
ly existence.  In  the  prologue  to  the  "  Tartare"  of 
Beaumarchais,  a  Genius  questions  these  imaginary 
beings  whether  tkey  v»'ish  to  have  birth  ;  and  one 
among  them  anav/ers,  «  I  do  not  feel  myself  at  aU 
f  eager  about  it."  This  lively  answer  may'  be  applied 
to  most  of  those  allegorical  personages  v.-hich  thcv 
take  pleasure  in  bringing  forward  on  the  German  thea- 
tre. 

^Werner  has  composed,  on  the  subject  of  the  Tem- 
plars, a  piece  in  tv/o  volumes,  called  The  Sons  of 
-  the  Valley  a  piece,  which  possesses  great  interest 
for  those  who  are  initiated  into  the  doctrine  of  secret 
orders;  for  it  is  rather  the  spirit  of  these  orders,  tiian 
lihe  historical  colour  that  is  principallv  remarkable  in 
them.    The  poet  seeks  to  connect  the  Free-masoirs 


16  OP  LrrERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


yvith  the  Templars,  and  applies  himself  to  the  task  of 
shewing  that  ibe  same  traditions  and  the  same  spirit 
have  been  always  preserved  among-  both.  The  imagi- 
Tiation  oi  Wrrner  sinijularly  delischts  itself  in  these 
associatioi^s,  which  have  the  air  of  someth  ing  Ruper- 
Tsatural,  because  they  miiltipiy,  in  an  extraordinary 
degree,  the  force  of  each,  by  giving  a  like  tendency 
to  all.  'I'his  play,  or  this  poem,  of  the  Sons  of  the 
Valley,  has  caused  a  great  sensation  in  Germany  ;  I 
doubt  whether  it  would  obtain  an  equal  degree  of  suc- 
cess amos^g  ourselves. 

Another  composition  of  Werner's,  well  worthy  of 
notice,  is  that  which  has  for  its  subject  the  introduc- 
tion of  Christianity  into  Prussia  and  Livonia.  This 
elraD>atic  romance  is  entitled  T/ie  Cross  on  the  Baltic. 
There  reigns  throughout  a  very  lively  sentiment  of  all 
that  characterizes  the  north,  the  amber-fishery,  moun- 
tains rough  with  ice,  the  ssperity  of  the  climate,  the 
rapid  influence  of  spring,  the  hostility  of  nature,  the 
rudeness  Avhich  this  warfare  instils  into  man  ;  and  we 
recognize  in  these  pictures  a  poet  who  has  had  re« 
coiirse  to  sensations,  he  has  himself  experienced,  for 
all  that  he  describes  and  expresses. 

I  have  seen  acted,  at  a  private  theatre,  a  piece  of 
Werner's  composition,  eniitled  The  twenty-fourth  of 
Fibruarij  :  a  piece  on  which  opinions  would  be  great- 
ly divided.  The  author  supposes  that,  in  the  solitudes 
of  Switzerland,  there  dwelt  a  family  of  peasants, 
v/hich  had  rendered  itself  guilty  of  the  most  atro- 
cious crimes,  and  was  pursued  by  a  paternal  maledic- 
tion Irom  father  !o  son.  The  third  of  these  accursed 
generations  presents  the  spectacle  of  a  man  who  by  an 
outrage  has  caused  the  death  of  his  father:  the  son  of 
ihis  uiihappy  wretch  has,  in  his  childhood,  kiiied  his 
own  sistt-r  in  a  cruel  sport,  but  without  knowing  what 
he  was  about.  After  this  frigluful  event  he  has  disap- 
pcart-d.  The  labours  of  the  parricidal  father  have 
been  ever  siiice  visited  by  continual  bad  fortune  ;  hia 
fields  have  become  barren,  his  cattle  have  perished  ; 
the  n  osi  frightful  poverty  overwhehTiS  him  ;  his  cred- 
itors threaten  t©  seiz^his  cettagcj  and  tiirow  him  int^ 


GP  THE  DHAMAS  OF  WERNER 


17 


prison  ;  his  wife  wanders  alone  in  the  midst  of  tlie  Al- 
pine snows.  AH  at  once  the  son  arrives,  after  an  ab- 
sence of  twenty  years.  He  is  animated  by  tender  and 
religious  sentiments,  and  inspired  with  true  repent- 
ance, though  he  had  been  guilty  of  no  criminal  in- 
tention. He  returns  to  his  father's  house  ;  and  as  he 
is  too  much  altered  to  be  reco9;nized  by  him,  forms 
the  resolution  of  concealing  from  him  his  name  at  first, 
in  order  to  gain  his  affection  before  he  confesses  him- 
self to  be  his  son  ;  but  the  father,  in  his  misery,  be- 
comes greedy  and  covetous  of  the  money  that  is  car- 
ried about  him  by  his  guest,  whom  he  believes  to  be 
a  vagabond  foreigner  of  suspicious  character;  and 
when  the  hour  of  midnight  strikes,  on  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  February,  the  anniversary  of  the  paternal 
malediction  by  which  the  whole  family  is  visited,  hs 
plunges  a  knife  into  his  son's  bosom.  The  latter,  in 
his  last  moments,  reveals  his  secret  to  this  double 
criminal,  the  assassin  of  his  father  and  of  his  child, 
and  the  miserable  wretcii  goes  to  deliver  himself  up, 
to  the  tribunal  that  must  condemn  him. 

These  situations  are  appalling  ;  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  they  produce  a  great  effect ;  nevertheless,  the 
poetical  colour  of  the  piece,  and  the  gradation  of  mo- 
tives derived  from  the  passions,  are  much  m.ore  to  be 
admired  than  the  subject  on  which  it  is  founded. 

To  transfer  the  fatal  destiny  of  the  house  of  Atreus 
to  people  of  the  lower  ranks  cf  society,  is  to  bring- 
the  contemplation  of  crimes  too  familiarly  before  the 
eyes  of  the  spectators.  The  splendour  of  rank,  and 
the  distance  of  ages,  give  to  wickedness  itself  a  spe- 
cies of  grandeur  which  agrees  better  v»'ilh  the  ideal  in 
art ;  but  when  the  knife  is  presented  to  you  instead  of 
the  poniard,  v/hen  the  situation,  the  manners,  the 
characters  are  such  as  you  may  meet  with  every  day, 
you  are  frightened,  like  children  in  a  dark  room,  but 
it  is  not  the  noble  horror  tliat  tragedy  ought  to  awa» 
ken. 

Still,  hovv^ever,  this  potency  of  the  paternal  cursej, 
v,-hich  seems  to  represent  a  providence  upon  earth, 
agitates  the  soul  very  forcibly.    The  fe.talityj  of  U^e- 

VOL.  II,  B  3 


18 


©P  UTERATURE  AND  TOE  AnT&i 


ancients  is  the  sport  of  destiny;  but  fatality,  in  the 
Christian  doctrine,  is  a  nnoral  truth  under  a  terrifyin£f 
form.  When  man  does  not  yield  to  remorse,  the  very 
agitation  which  that  remorse  makes  him  experience, 
drives  him  headlong  to  the  commission  of  new  crimes  ; 
conscience,  repulsed,  changes  itself  into  a  phantom 
that  disturbs  the  reason. 

The  wife  of  tlds  guiity  peasant  is  haunted  by  the  re- 
rnembrance  of  a  ballad  containing  the  recital  of  a  par- 
ricide ;  and  alone,  in  her  sleep,  she  cannot  help  mut- 
tering it  in  an  under  voice,  like  those  confused  and 
involuntary  fancies,  of  which  the  dismal  recurrence 
seems  an  inward  presentiment  of  fate. 

The  description  of  the  Alps,  and  of  their  vast  soli- 
tude, is  extremely  beautiful ;  the  abode  of  the  cul- 
prit, the  hovel  in  wnich  the  scene  passes,  is  far  fi  om 
any  other  habitation  ;  no  church  bell  is  heard  there^ 
and  the  hour  is  announced  only  by  a  rustic  clock,  the 
last  piece  of  furniture  that  poverty  has  not  yet  resoiv» 
cd  to  part  with  ;  the  monotonous  noise  of  this  clock,^ 
in  the  deep  recesses  of  mountains  where  the  sounds 
of  human  existence  never  reach,  produces  a  strange 
shuddering-.  We  ask,  what  has  time  to  do  in  a  place 
like  this  ;  to  what  purpose  the  division  of  hours  that 
no  interest  varies  ?  And  when  that  dreadful  hour  of 
erime  is  heard  to  strike,  it  recalls  to  us  the  fine  idea 
4>f  the  missionary  who  imagined  that  in  hell  the  damn- 
ed spirits  are  incessantly  asking  ; — "  What's  o'clock 
and  that  they  are  answered,—*^  Eternity.*' — 

Werner  has  been  reproached  for  admitting  into  his 
tragedies  situations  that  are  better  adapted  for  the 
fetautiesof  lyric  ^  poetry  than  for  the  development  of 
theatrical  passions.  He  may  be  accused  of  a  contrary 
fault  in  the  "  Twenty-fourth  of  February.'*  The  sub- 
ject of  this  piece,  the  manners  it  represents,  bear 
^oo  strong  a  resemblance  to  truth,  and  to  truth  of  a 
descriptio.ii  too  atrocious  to  be  admltied  into  the  cir- 
cle of  the  fine  arts.  The  fine  arts  are  placed  between 
heaven  and  earth,  and  the  genius  of  Werner  some- 
times rises  above,  sometimes  sinks  beneath,  this  m^^ 
tivs  region  of  fiGtios,. 


@F  THE  DRAMAS  dF  KOTZEBUEr.  1^ 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Various  Pieces  of  the  German  and  Danish  Theatre^ 


raraatic  works  of  Kotzebue  have  been  transla* 
ted  into  several  languages.  It  would  therefore  be  su- 
perfluous to  employ  ourselves  in  making  thern  known. 
I  shall  only  observe  that  no  impartial  jude,-e  can  deny 
him  a  perfect  understanding  of  theatrical  effects.  The 
T%vo  Brothers^  Misanthro/iy  and  Refientance^  The  Hus- 
sites^ the  Crusader,s^  Hugo  Grotius,  Jane  de  Mo7itfau- 
€on^  The  Death  of  Rolla^  iffc.  excite  the  most  lively 
interest  wherever  they  are  performed.  It  must  still 
be  confessed,  that  Kotzebue  knows  not  how  to  give  to 
his  personages  either  the  colour  of  the  times  in  which 
they  lived,  or  national  features,  or  the  character  that 
history  assigns  them.  These  personages,  to  whatever 
age  or  country  they  belong,  always  appear  to  be  con- 
temporaries and  feiiow  countrymen  ;  they  are  invested 
vnth  the  same  philosophical  opinions,  the  same  mod- 
ern manners,  and  whether  he  is  painting  a  man  of  our 
own  days,  or  a  Virgin  of  tiiC  Suii,  nothing  is  to  be  dis- 
covered in  either  but  a  picture  of  the  present  times, 
at  once  natural  and  pathetic.  If  the  theatrical  genius 
of  Kotzebue,  which  is  unique  in  Germany,  could  be 
joined  to  tlie  talent  of  painting  characters  such  as  his- 
tory transmits  them  to  us,  and  if  his  style  of  poetry 
elevated  itself  to  the  height  of  those  situations  of  which 
he  is  the  ingenious  inventor,  the  success  of  his  pieces 
would  be  equally  lasting  and  brilliant. 

Besides,  nothing  is  so  rare  as  to  find  united  in  the 
same  individual  the  two  faculties  which  constitute  a 
great  dramatic  author;  dexterity  in  his  trade,  if  we 
may  so  term  it,  a.  d  the  genius  that  embraces  the  uiii- 
verse:  this  problem  is  the  great  difficulty  of  human 
iiaturo  itself  j  and  it  is  always  ejusy  to  distint^uish  among 


20  OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


men,  those  in  whom  the  talent  of  conception,  and  thai 
of  execution  predominate  ;  those  who  stand  in  relation 
with  all  times,  and  those  who  are  exclusively  the  por- 
tion of  their  own:  nevertheless,  it  is  in  the  union  of 
opposite  qualities  that  phsenomena  of  every  descrip- 
tion consist. 

The  greater  number  of  Kotzebue's  pieces  are  dis- 
tinguished for  some  situations  of  striking  beauty.  In 
"  The  Hussites,"  when  Procopius,  the  successor  of 
Zisca,  besieges  Naumburg,  the  magistrates  come  to 
the  resolution  of  sending  all  the  children  out  of  the- 
town  to  the  enem.y's  camp,  to  ask  m.ercy  for  the  in- 
habitants. These  poor  children  must  go  a.lone,  to  im- 
plore the  compassion  of  fanatic  soldiers,  who  spare 
neither  age  nor  sex.  The  burgomaster  is  the  fu'st  to 
offer  his  four  sons,  the  eldest  of  whom  is  only  twelve 
years  old,  for  this  perilous  expedition.  The  mother 
entreats  that  one  at  least  may  remain  with  her  ;  the  fa- 
ther appears  to  consent,  and  sets  himself  about  sum- 
ming up  the  faults  of  each  of  his  children,  in  succes- 
sion, that  the  mother  may  declare  who  are  those  for 
Vvhich  she  feels  herscif  the  least  interested  ;  but  when- 
ever he  begins  to  throw  blame  upon  either  of  them, 
the  mother  assures  him  that  that  is  the  one  which  shs 
prefers  to  all  the  rest,  and  the  unhappy  woman  is  at 
last  forced  to  agree  that  the  cruel  choice  is  impossible, 
and  that  it  is  better  they  should  all  partake  the  same 
lot. 

In  the  second  act,  we  are  introduced  into  the  camp 
of  the  Hussites  ;  all  the  soldiers,  of  menacing  figures, 
repose  in  tlieir  tents  ;  a  slight  noise  awakens  their  at- 
tention ;  they  perceive  in  the  plain  a  crowd  of  children, 
marching  in  procession,  with  oaken  boughs  in  iheir 
hands:  they  cannot  conceive  the  signification  of  this, 
and  taking  their  lances,  place  themselves  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  camp  to  defend  the  approach.  The  chil- 
dren advance  fearlessly  in  front  of  the  lances,  and  the 
Hussites  involuntarily  recoil,  angry  at  finding  them- 
se  ves  affected,  and  unable  to  comprehend  wliat  it  is 
they  expeilence.  Procopius  comes  out  of  his  ttnt  j 
he  causes  the  burj^omaster,  who  had  ioilowed  his  chii 


Tim  dp:  AM  AS  OP  KOTZiEBDS. 


21 


dren  at  a  distance,  to  be  brought  before  him,  and  or* 
tiers  him  to  point  out  which  are  his.  The  burgomas- 
ter refuses  ;  Procopius's  soldiers  lay  their  hands  on 
him,  and  immediately  the  four  children  rush  into  their 
father's  arms.  "  You  know  them  now,"  says  the  bur- 
gomaster to  Procopius,   "  they  have  named  them- 

selves."  The  piece  ends  happily  ;  and  the  third  act 
is  full  of  congratulations  ;  but  it  is  the  second  that  af- 
fords the  greatest  theatrical  interest. 

Scenes  fit  for  a  novel  constitute  all  the  merit  of  the 
play  of  "  The  Crusaders."  A  young  girl,  believing 
her  lover  to  hai'C  perished  in  the  wars,  has  taken  the 
veil  at  Jerusalem  in  a  reli.:4;ious  order  consecrated  to 
the  care  of  tiie  sick.  A  knight  dangerously  wounded 
is  brought  to  the  convent.  She  enters,  veiled,  and, 
without  iifiing  up  her  eyes  to  look  upon  nim,  kneels  to 
dress  his  wound.  The  knight,  in  this  moment  of  an- 
guisn,  articulates  the  name  of  his  mistress;  and  the 
unfortunate  object  of  his  iove  thus  recognizes  her  lov- 
er. He  forms  the  design  of  eloping  with  her:  the 
abbess  discovers  the  plan,  and  the  consent  of  her  nun 
to  its  accomplishment.  She  condemns  her,  in  he? 
rage,  lo  be  buried  alive  ;  and  the  unhappy  knight,  v^an- 
dering  in  vain  round  the  church  hears  the  organ  and 
the  voices  which  are  performing,  underground,  the 
burial  service  of  one  who  is  still  alive,  and  who  loves 
him..  This  situation  is  harrowing  to  the  soul;  but  all 
ends,  in  like  manner,  happily.  The  Turks,  led  by  the 
young  knight,  come  to  the  deliverance  of  the  victim. 
An  Asiatic  convent  in  the  thirteenth  century  is  treated 
in  the  same  manner  as  the  cloistered  victims  during 
the  French  revolution  ;  and  a  few  sentiments,  which 
are  very  gentle,  but  a  littu  too  easy,  termii:iate  the 
piece  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  the  spectators. 

Kotzebue  has  comp  sed  a  drama  from  the  historical 
anecdote  of  the  imprisonment  of  Groiius  by  the  Prince 
of  Orange,  and  his  deliverance  by  his  friends,  wiio  dis- 
cover the  means  of  conveying  him  out  of  the  fortress 
where  he  is  confined,  hid  in  a  chest  of  books.  Tnero 
are  some  situations  in  this  piece  worthy  of  notice  ;  a 
young  ofiicerj  in  love  with  the  daugnter  of  Grotiusj 


22 


OF  LlTEPvATURE  AMD  THE  AETS. 


learns  of  her  that  she  is  trying  to  procure  the  escape 
of  her  fatlier,  and  promises  to  assist  her  in  this  pro- 
ject ;  but  the  governor,  his  fiiencl,  being  obliged  to 
quit  his  charge  for  twenty-four  hours,  comniits  the 
keys  of  the  citadel  to  his  care.  The  governor  is  him- 
self liable  to  the  pain  of  death,  if  his  prisoner  escapes 
during  his  absence.  The  young  lieutenant,  in  this 
manner  made  responsible  for  the  liff"  of  his  friend,  pre- 
vents  his  mistress's  fatlser  from  saving  himself,  by  forc- 
ing him  back  into  his  prison  at  the  moment  when  he 
was  ready  to  enter  the  boat  prepared  for  his  deliver- 
ance. The  sacrifice  made  by  this  young  lieutenant,  in 
thus  exposing  himself  to  his  mistress's  indignation  is 
truly  heroic  ;  when  the  governor  returns,  and  the  offi- 
cer no  longer  fills  the  place  of  his  friend,  he  finds 
means  of  drav.'ing  on  himself,  by  a  nobie  falsehood,  the 
capital  punishment  denounced  against  those  who  shall 
have  attempted,  a  second  time,  to  rescue  Grotius,  and 
have  at  last  succeeded  in  it.  The  joy  of  the  young 
man,  when  his  sentence  of  death  insures  him  the  re- 
turn of  his  mistress's  esteem,  is  of  the  most  affecting 
beauty  ;  but,  in  the  conclusion,  there  is  so  much  mag- 
nanimity in  Grotius,  (who  returns  to  deliver  himself 
itp  again  to  save  the  young  man's  !:fe.)  in  the  prince  of 
Orange,  in  the  daughter,  and  in  the  author  himself, 
that  all  we  can  do  is  to  say  amen  to  the  whole.  The 
situations  of  this  piece  have  been  transferred  to  a 
French  play,  but  they  are  there  ascribed  to  unknown 
characters,  and  neither  Grotius,  nor  the  prince  of 
Orange,  is  named  in  it.  This  is  v/iscly  done,  for  there 
is  nothing  in  the  <icrman  original  that  agrees  in  a  par- 
ticular manner  with  the  characters  of  these  t\vo  per- 
sonages, such  as  history  has  represerited  tliem  to  us. 

"  Jane  of  Montfaucon'*  being  a  chivalrous  adventure 
of  Kotzebue's  own  invention,  he  has  used  more  free- 
dom in  that  than  hi  any  other  of  his  pieces,  in  the  man- 
ner of  treating  his  subject.  A  charming  actress,  Madame 
Unzelmann,  used  to  play  the  principal  part ;  and  the 
manner  m  which  she  defended  her  heart  and  her  castle 
?igainst  a  discourteous  knight  produced  a  very  agreea- 
Me  impressioa  on  tlie  stage.    By  turns  warlike  and 


OF  THE  DEAMA3  OF  KOTZEBUE. 


23 


despondnjg,  her  helmet,  and  her  dishevelled  locks, 
alike  seemed  to  embellish  her  ;  but  situations  of  this 
description  are  better  suited  to  pantomime  than  to  dia- 
logue, and  the  words  answer  no  ether  purpose  than 
that  of  filling"  up  the  action. 

"  The  death  of  Rolla"  is  of  a  merit  sur>erior  to  any 
that  I  have  vet  cited  ;  the  celebrated  Sheridan  has 
made  a  play  from  it  enti:ied  '^Pizarro,"  which  was  at- 
tended with  the  greatest  success  in  England;  a  single 
expression  at  the  conclusion  of  the  piece  produces  an 
admirable  effect.  Rolla,  the  chief  of  the  Peruvians, 
has  for  a  long  time  fought  against  the  Spaniards  ;  he 
loved  Cora,  a  Virgin  of  the  Sun,  and  has  nevertheless 
generously  labourt;d  to  vanquish  the  obstacles  that 
separated  her  from  Aionzo.  A  year  after  their  mar- 
riage, the  Spaniards  cany  off  the  infant  son  of  Cora  ; 
Rulla  exposes  himself  to  every  danger  to  recover  him, 
and  brings  him  back  at  last,  covered  with  blood,  in  his 
cradle  ;  Pwolia  observes  the  mother's  te  rror  at  the  sight. 
*'  Calm  yourself,"  he  says  to  her,  this  blood  is 
"  mine  !"  and  he  expires. 

Some  German  writers  have  not,  I  think,  done  jus- 
tice to  the  dramatic  talent  of  Kotzebue  ;  but  it  is  fit  to 
acknowledge  the  estimable  motives  of  this  prejuuice  ; 
Kotzebue  has  not  always  paid  sufficient  respect,  in  his 
plays,  to  strict  virtue,  and  positive  religion  ;  he  has 
indulged  himself  in  this  error,  not  from  adherence  to 
system,  as  I  conceive,  but'  merely  to  produce,  occa- 
sionally, a  more  powerful  effect  on  the  stage  ;  it  is  net 
less  true,  however,  that  he  deserved  to  be  censured 
in  this  respect  by  rigid  critics.  He  seems  hin^iseif,  for 
some  years  past,  to  have  conformed  to  more  regular 
principles,- and  so  far  from  his  geiiius  losing  by  t^iat 
conformity,  it  has  in  reality  been  considerably  the  gain- 
er. Elevation  and  "  strength  of  sentiment  always  held 
by  some  secret  ties  to  the  purity  of  morals. 

Kotzebue  and  the  greater  part  of  the  German  vrri- 
teis  had  borrowed  the  opinion  of  Lessing,  that  prose 
is  tne  language  proper  for  the  theatre,  and  that  trage- 
dy should  be  brought  as  nearly  as  possiole  to  the  style 
of  common  life  j  Goethe  and  Schiller,  by  tneir  latter 


'24  m  iJTEEATUilE  AND  THE  AW^. 

"works,  and  the  writers  of  tl>e  nev/  School,  have  ov^'r^ 
turned  this  system ;  these  writers  may  rather  be  re- 
proached with  the  contrary  excess,  that  is,  a  poetiy 
too  exalted,  and  which  turns  aside  the  imagination 
from  theatrical  effect.  In  those  dramatic  authors  whO) 
like  Kotzebue,  adopted  the  principles  of  Lessing,  we 
almost  always  meet  with  simplicity  and  interest  ; 
"  Agnes  de  Bernau,"  "  Julius  of  Tarentum,"  "  Don 
Diego,"  and  "  Leonora,"  have  been  represented  with 
great  and  deserved  success  ;  as  these  pieces  have  been 
translated  in  the  collection  of  Friedel,  it  is  useless  to 
quote  from  them.  It  seems  tome  that  "  Don  Diego" 
and  "  Leonora,"  particularly,  might,  with  some  altera- 
tions, succeed  upon  the  French  stas>e.  It  would  be 
necessary  to  preserve  the  touching  picture  of  that  deep 
and  melancho  y  passion  which  foiebodes  misfortune, 
even  before  any  reverse  has  announced  it  ;  the  Scots 
call  these  presentiments  of  the  heart,  a  man's  second 
sight  ;  they  are  wrong  in  calling  it  the  second,  it  is  the 
first  and  perhaps  the  only  true  sight. 

Among  the  prose  tragedies  that  are  elevated  above 
the  rank  of  melo-drame,  some  essays  of  Gei  stenberg 
deserve  to  be  noticed.  It  bas  entei  ed  into  his  imagin- 
ation to  choose  the  deatt-  of  Count  UgoliiiO  for  the  sub- 
ject of  a  tragedy  ;  tiie  uiiity  of  place  is  there  of  ne- 
cessity, since  the  piece  begins  and  ends  in  the  tower 
"Where  Ugoiino  perishes  with  his  three  sons  :  as  lor  the 
unity  of  time,  more  tlian  twenty-four  hours  are  need- 
ed to  make  a  man  die  of  Imngcr  ;  but  in  the  other 
respects  tiie  event  is  the  same,  audits  progress  is  only 
mai-ked  by  the  increase  of  horror.  There  is  nothing" 
more  sublime  in  Daute  than  the  picture  of  this  unhap- 
py father,  who  has  seen  his  three  sons  perish  by  his 
side,  and  who  gluts  himseli  m  heli  v/itli  feeding  on  the 
scull  of  the  ferocious  enemy  who  made  him  his  victim  ; 
but  this  episode  is  net  fit  tor  the  sui.jectof  a  dramatic 
piece.  A  catastrophe  is  not  cnougii  to  furnish  out  a 
tragedy  ;  the  piece  of  Gersienberg  contains  energetic 
beauties,  and  the  moment  when  we  hear  the  prison 
wailed  up  causes  the  most  terrible  impression  that  the 
mind  is  capable  of  expericncm^-,  it  is  that  of  living 


OF  Tlia  DRAMAS  ©F  GESSTENBER&. 


25 


death  ;  but  despair  cannot  sustain  five  acts  ;  the  spec- 
tator must  either  die  or  admit  consolation  ;  and  we 
may  apply  to  this  tragedy  what  a  lively  Aniericaii,  Mr. 
G.  Morris,  said  of  the  French  in  1790,  thty  have  fia.^  fied 
the  hounds  of  Liberty.  To  pass  the  bounds  of  the 
pathetic,  that  is  to  say,  to  carry  it  beyond  that  degree 
of  emotion  which  the  strength  of  the  soul  is  capable  of 
supporting,  is  the  same  as  to  destroy  the  eifect. 

Klinger,  known  by  other  writings,  fu'l  of  depth  and 
sagacity,  has  composed  a  very  interesting  tragedy, 
called  "  The  Twins."  The  rage  experienced  by  him 
who  passes  for  the  younger  of  the  two  brothers,  nis 
rebellion  agaiiiSt  the  right  of  primogeniture,  the  ef- 
fect of  an  instant,  is  admirably  painted  in  this  piece  ; 
some  writers  have  pretended  that  to  this  species  of 
jealousy  is  to  be  ascribed  the  destijiy  of  the  Iron  Mask  ; 
however  that  may  be,  it  is  easy  to  comprehend  how 
the  hatred  wiiich  this  right  of  primogeniture  is  capa- 
bie  of  exciting  may  oe  more  violent  between  twins. 
The  two  brotiu^  £  l,c  out  together  on  horseback  ;  they 
wait  for  theu-  rciDiT].  the  clay  pabses  without  their  re- 
appearing; but  in  ihc  erening  ihe  hoi  se  of  the  eider  is 
discovered  returning  alone  to  the  paternal  mansion  :  a 
cii  cumstance  so  simple  as  this  can  hardly  be  found  in 
any  of  our  tragedies,  and  yet  it  freezes  the  blood  in 
oui  veins  :  the  brother  has  slain  his  brother,  and  the 
father,  in  his  indignation,  revenges  tlie  death  of  one 
son  on  the  only  survivor.  This  tiageciy,  fuil  of  warmth 
and  eloqu  ence,  would  produce  a  prodigious  effect,  I 
conceive,  if  made  to  relate  to  celebrated  personages  ; 
but  one  finds  a  difficulty  in  conceiving  passions  so  vio- 
lent exerting  themseives  for  the  birth-right  of  a  casiie 
on  the  banks  of  the  Tyber.  I.  cannot  be  too  often  re- 
peated, that  tragedy  requires  historical  subjects  or  re- 
ligious traditions  which  awaken  great  recoiiectioiss  in 
the  minds  of  the  spectators;  for  in  fictions,  as  well  as 
in  real  life,  imagination  falls  back  on  the  past,  however 
eager  she  may  be  after  the  future. 

The  writers  of  tne  new  school  in  Germany  have, 
more  than  all  others,  of  the  bombast  (du  grandio^ej 
in  the  manner  of  conceiving  the  fine  arts  j  and  all  their 

VOL.  II.  C 


2Q 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


productionsj  whether  successful  upon  the  stage  or 
not,  are  combined  according  to  reflections  and  "senti" 
rnents  nf  which  the  analysis  is  interesting  ;  but  men  do 
not  analyze  in  the  theatre,  and  it  is  in  vain  tr>  demon- 
strate that  such  a  piece  ought  to  succeed  ;  if  tiie  spcC" 
tator  remains  cold,  the  dramatic  battle  is  lost ;  success, 
with  some  few  exceptions,  is  tne  test  of  genius  in  the 
arts  ;  the  public  is  almost  always  a  very  sensible  judge 
v/hen  its  opinion  is  not  influenced  by  passing  circum- 
stances. 

TJie  greater  part  of  those  German  tragedies  wliich 
are  not  destined  even  by  their  authors  for  rcprtserta- 
tion,  are  nevertheless  very  beautiful  poems.    One  of 
the  m.ost  remarkable  is  "  Genevieve  of  Brabant,"  of 
which  Tieck  is  the  author:  the  ancient  iegend  t^/at 
makes  this  saint  live  fo   ten  years  in  a  desert  on  heibs 
and  fruits,  without  any  other  support  for  her  child  tr.an 
the  milk  of  a  faithful  doe,  is  admirably  well  treated  in 
this  romance  in  dialogue.    The  pious  resignation  of 
Genevieve  is  paii;ted  in  the  colours  of  sacred  poetry, 
£ind  the  character  of  the  man  who  accuses,  after  having 
attempted  in  vain  to  seduce  her,  is  traced  with  a  n.as- 
t.er's  hand;  this  guiity  person  preserves  amidst  all  his 
crimes  a  sort  of  poetical  imagination  which  gives  a 
gloomy  originality  to  his  actions  as  well  as  his  re- 
morse.   The  exposition  of  this  piece  is  made  by  St. 
Boniface,  who  relates  the  subject  ol  it,  and  begins  in 
these  terms:  "  lam  St.  Boniface,  who  comiC  hither  to 
"tell  you,"  &c.:  It  is  not  by  chance  that  the  author 
adopted  this  form  ;  he  shews  too  much  depth  and  too 
much  art  in  his  other  writings,  and  particularly  in  the 
very  work  which  cpens  in  this  manner,  not  to  shew  us 
clearly  that  it  was  his  intention  to  render  himself  sim- 
ple, like  a  contemporary  of  Genevieve  ;  but  by  omt 
of  pretending  to  revive  arcient  times,  we  attain  a  (  er- 
tain  affectation  of  simplicity,  wuich  only  makes  people 
laugii,  whatever  sober  reason  wc  miay  give  tnem  for 
being  aff'ected.    Without  doubt  v/e  should  know  how 
to  transport  ourselves  into  the  age  the  manners  of 
which  it  is  our  intention  to  paint ;  yet  we  must  not  al- 
together forget  our  own.    The  perspective  of  pictures. 


OF  THE  BE  AM  AS  OF  COLLIN. 


whatever  be  the  object  they  represent,  shGuld  always 
be  taken  according  to  the  point  of  view  in  which  they 
are  to  be  contemplated. 

Among-  the  authors  who  have  remained  constant  to  the 
imitation  of  the  ancients,  Collin  deserves  the  first  rank- 
Vienna  prides  herself  in  this  poet,  one  of  the  most 
highly  esteemed  in  Germany,  and  perhaps  for  a  long 
while  past  the  only  poet  of  Austria.  His  tragedy  of 
"  Reguius"  would  succeed  in  France  if  it^  were 
known  there.  In  Collin's  manner  there  is  a  mixture 
of  elevation  and  sensibility  of  Roman  austerity  and  re- 
ligious madness,  that  seems  made  expressly  to  recon- 
cile the  taste  of  the  ancients  with  that  of  the  moderns. 
That  scene  in  his  tragedy  of  "  Polysena,''  in  which 
Caichas  commands  Neoptolemus  to  sacrifice  the 
daughter  of  Priam  on  the  tomb  of  Achilles,  is  one  of 
the  finest  things  that  has  ever  been  heard.  T.'ie  ap- 
peal of  the  infernal  deities,  demanding  a  victim  to  ap» 
pease  the  ghosts  of  the  slain,  is  expressed  v/ith  a 
gloomy  strength,  a  subterraneous  terror,  that  seems 
to  lay  open  to  us  the  abysses  underneath  our  feet.  No 
doubt  we  are  continually  recalled  to  the  admiration  of 
ancient  subjects,  and  up  to  the  present  time  all  the 
efforts  of  tne  moderns  to  draw  out  of  their  own  funds 
suiiicient  to  place  tliem  on  an  equality  with  the  Greeks, 
have  never  succeeded  ;  it  is  nevertheless  desirable  to 
reach  that  noble  emulation  ;  for  not  only  does  the  prin- 
ciple of  imit?J.ion  exhaust  itself,  but  the  spirit  cf  our 
age  makes  itself  constantly  felt  in  the  manner  of  cur 
treating  the  f-Joles  or  the  facts  of  antiquity.  Collin 
himself,  for  instance,  though  he  has  conducted  his 
play  of  Polyxena  with  great  simplicity  through  the 
iormer  acts,  renders  it  comiplicated  towa'\ls  the  con- 
ciusion  by  adii^ersity  of  incidents.  The  French  have 
incorporated  the  gallantry  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV. 
Wita  faUOj:,"cts  taken  from  antiquity;  the  Italians  often 
treai  them  witii  po  :ipcus  affectation  ;  the  English,  al- 
ways-natural,  have  imitated  only  the  Romans  on  their 
stage,  because  they  perceived  in  them  some  relation 
with  t:^.emselves.  The  Germans  introduce  the  philos- 
ophy of  nietapnysic&j  or  a  variety  of  romantic  evei.ts, 


28 


OF  LITERATLmS  AND  THE  ARTS, 


into  their  trag-edies,  founded  on  Grecian  subjects.  N'® 
writer  of  our  days  wii!  ever  attain  to  the  composition 
of  ancient  poetry.  It  would  be  better,  tlien,  that  our 
relig-ion  and  our  manners  should  create  for  us  a  mod- 
ern poetry,  whose  beauty  should  consist  in  its  own  pe- 
culiar nature,  like  that  <  -i  the  ancients. 

A  Danish  v/riter,  CEhlenschlager,  has  himself  trans- 
lated his  own  plays  into  German.  The  analogy  be- 
tween the  two  languages  admits  the  possibility  of 
writing  equally  well  in  both,  and  Ba.g-gesen,  also  a 
Dane,  had  already  given  tiie  example  of  a  great  gen- 
ius for  versificat'cn  in  a  foreign  idiom.  A  line  dra- 
anntic  imagination  discovers  itself  in  the  tragedies  of 
CEaiensclilager.  They  are  said  to  have  met  with 
great  success  on  the  stage  of  Copenhagen:  in  the 
closet  they  are  calculated  to  excite  interest  under  two 
principal  relations  ;  first,  because  the  author  has  some- 
times found  the  means  of  reconciling  the  regularity 
of  the  French  drama  v/ith  the  diversity  of  situations 
which  the  German  taste  requires  ;  and  secondly,  be- 
cause he  has  represented  in  a  manner,  at  once  true 
and  poetical,  the  history  and  the  fables  of  ancient 
Scandinavia. 

We  are  little  acquainted  with  the  North,  which 
touches  upon  the  confines  of  the  habitable  world  ;  the 
lon^^  nights  of  the  northern  countries,  during  which 
only  the  reflection  of  the  snow  seems  to  enlighten  the 
earth  ;  the  darkness  which  bounds  the  horiz;m  in  the 
distance,  even  when  the  vault  of  heaven  is  illuminated 
by  the  stars,  all  seem  to  give  the  idea  of  unknown 
space,  of  a  nocturnal  universe  by  which  our  world  is 
encircled.  The  air,  so  piercing  as  to  congeal  the 
breath,  drives  all  warmth  backv/ards  on  the  soul,  and 
nature  herself,  in  these  climates,  appears  made  only 
10  concentrate  man  within  himself. 

The  heroes  of  northern  poetical  fiction  have  some- 
thing gigantic  in  them.  In  their  character,  super- 
stition is  united  to  strength,  while  every  where  else  it 
seems  to  partake  of  weakness.  Images,  drawn  from 
the  rigour  of  the  climate,  characterise  the  poetry  of 
the  Scandinavians ;  they  call  vultures  the  woives  of 


the  air  :  the  boiling  lakes  formed  by  volcanoes  preserve 
during  winter  the  birds  tiiat  seek  refnge  in  the  at- 
mosphere by  which  these  lakes  are  surrounded  ;  ia 
these  regions  of  cloud  every  thing  is  impressed  witii 
a  character  of  grandeur  and  gloom. 

The  Scandinavian  nations  possessed  a  sort  of  phys- 
ical strength  that  seemed  to  exclude  deliberation^  and 
impelled  the  will,  like  a  rock  precipitating  itself  to  the 
bottom  of  the  mountain.  The  iron  men  of  Germ.any 
cannot  make  us  sufficiently  comprehend  these  inhab- 
itants of  the  extremity  of  the  earth :  they  unite  the 
irritability  of  passion  to  the  persevering  coldness  of 
resolution ;  and  nature  herself  has  not  disdained  to 
paint  them  with  a  poet*s  pencil,  when  she  placed  in 
Iceland  a  volcano  v;hich  vomits  torrents  of  fire  from 
a  bosom  of  eternal  snow. 

CEhlenschlager  has  created  for  himself  an  entirely 
new  career,  in  taking  for  the  subjects  of  his  plays  the 
heroic  traditions  of  his  country  ;  and,  by  following 
this  example,  the  literature  of  the  North  may  one  day 
become  equally  celebrated  with  that  of  Germany.  - 

It  is  here  that  I  choose  to  terminate  the  review 
which  I  meant  to  give  of  those  pieces  of  the  German 
theatre  which  partake  in  any  degree  of  the  character 
of  tragedy.  I  shall  not  sum  up  the  defects  and  beau- 
ties which  this  tablet  may  present  lo  us.  There  is  so 
much  diversity  of  genius  and  of  system  among  the 
dramatic  poets  of  Germany,  that  tlie  same  judgment 
cannot  apply  to  all.  Bcbides,  the  greatest  praise  that 
can  be  bestowed  upon  t  lem  is  th.it  ver)  div-^rsity  :  for, 
in  the  empire  of  literature,  as  in  others,  uikaaimity  is 
almost  always  a  sign  of  servitude. 


vol,,  ir. 


30  OF  UTEEATUilB  AND  THE  ARTS. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

Of  Comedy. 


-1-  HE  Ideal*'  of  tragic  character  consists,  says 
W  Rchlegel,  in  the  -victoi^y  obtained  by  the  will  over 
destiny^  or  over  our  passions  ;  that  of  comedy^  on  the 
contrary^  expresses  the  empire  of  physical  over  moral 
existence  :  ivkence  it  follows  that  gluttony  and  pol- 
troonery  are^  in  all  places  an  inexhaustible  ttibject  of 
plf-asantry.  The  love  of  life  appears  to  man  the  most 
ridiculous  and  the  most  vulgar  of  feelings,  and  the 
laufi^hter  which  seizes  upon  mortal  beings,  "when  con- 
templating the  object  of  one  of  their  fellow  mortals 
suftv  ring  under  the  apprehension  of  death,  must  be 
confessed  to  be  a  noble  attribute  of  the  human  under- 
standing. 

But  when  we  quit  the  circle,  a  little  too  common,^ 
of  these  universal  pleasantries,  when  we  arrive  at  tlie 
ridiculous  t^xtravagancies  of  self-iove,  we  find  that  they 
partake  of  an  infinite  variety,  according  to  the  habits 
and  tastes  of  each  nation.  Gaiety  may  flow  either 
from  natural  inspiration,  or  social  relations  ;  in  the 
former  case,  it  is  suitable  to  men  of  all  countries  ;  in 
the  latter  it  differs  with  the  difference  of  times,  places^ 
ana  customs  ;  for  the  efforts  of  vanity  being  always  di- 
rected towards  making  an  impression  on  others,  it  is 
necessary  to  know  what  is  attended  with  most  success 
at  ouca  an  epoch,  and  in  such  a  place,  in  order  to  as- 
certain to  what  particular  object  those  efforts  should 
be  applied :  tnere  are  countries  in  which  fashion  ren- 
ders ridiculous  even  fashion  itself,  which  appears  to 
have  for  its  object  to  place  every  man  out  of  the  reach 
of  ridicuiej  by  giving  to  ail  a  similar  mode  of  exist- 


©N"  GERMAN*  COMEDY. 


31 


In  the  German  comedies,  the  great  world  is,  in  gen-? 
erai,  but  badly  described;  there  are  tew  good  models 
to  be  imitated  in  this  respect :  Society  does  not  attract 
distinguished  characters,  and  its  greatest  charm,  which 
consists  in  the  agreeable  art  of  reciprocal  pleasantry, 
would  not  succeed  among  them  ;  it  would  soon  dash 
in  pieces  the  self-love  which  is  accustomed  to  enjoy 
itself  in  tranquility,  and  it  might  easily  also  wither 
that  virtue  which  would  take  offence  even  at  an  inno- 
cent pleasantry. 

The  Germans  seldom  bring  forward  on  the  stage, 
objects  of  ridicule  taken  from  the  manners  of  their  own 
nation ;  they  do  not  observe  others,  and  are  still  less 
capable  of  examining  themselves,  under  external  re- 
lations ;  they  would  fancy  that  in  so  doing,  they  were 
in  a  manner  waiiting  to  the  fidelity  which  they  owe  to 
themselves.  Besides,  susceptibility,  which  is  one  of 
the  characteristic  features  of  tiieir  nature,  renders  it 
very  difficult  to  them  to  handle  pleasantry  with  light- 
ness ;  they  irequently  do  not  understand  it,  and,  when 
they  do  understand  it,  it  vexes  them,  and  they  dare 
not  make  use  of  it  in  tiieir  turn  ;  it  is  like  a  gun,  which 
they  are  afraid  of  seeing  burst  in  thv'^ir  hands. 

There  are  not,  then,  many  specimens  in  Germany 
of  tiiat  species  of  comedy  which  has  the  absurdities  of 
society  for  its  object.  Natural  originality  would  be 
better  perceived  among  them  ;  for  every  man  lives  af- 
ter his  own  fashion  in  a  country  where  the  despotism 
of  custom  does  not  hold  its  sittings  in  a  great  capital ; 
but,  althouj^h  there  is  a  greater  freedom  of  opinion  in 
Germany  than  in  England  itself,  English  originality  is 
invested  with  more  lively  colours,  because  the  move- 
ment that  exists  in  the  political  state  in  England,  gives 
better  opportunity  to  every  man  to  display  himself  as 
he  is. 

In  the  south  of  Germany,  particularly  at  Vienna,  a 
sufficient  vein  of  gaiety  is  discoverable  in  the  farces. 
The  Tyroiese  buhbon,  Casperle,  has  a  character  pe- 
culiar to  himself;  and  in  ail  these  pieces,  of  some- 
what low  comedy,  both  authors  and  actors  make  it 
tl'jeir  rule  to  haye  no  preteasioa  to  elegance,,  and  es- 


OP  UTERA.TURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


tablish  themselves  in  the  natural,  with  an  energy  and 
decision,  which  amply  compensates  the  want  of  arti- 
ficial refinements.  The  Germans  prefer  strong  to 
delicate  humour ;  they  seek  truth  in  their  traf^edies, 
and  caricature  in  their  comedies.  All  the  intricacies 
of  the  heart  are  known  to  them  ;  but  the  refinement 
of  social  wit  does  not  excite  them  to  gaiety  ;  the  trou- 
ble that  it  costs  them  to  comprehend,  deprives  them 
of  the  enjoyment  of  it. 

I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  elsewhere  of  Iffland', 
the  first  actor  of  Germany,  and  one  of  her  most  lively 
writers  ;  he  has  composed  several  pieces,  which  are 
excellent  in  the  delineation  of  character,  and  the  rep- 
resentation of  domestic  manners  ;  and  these  family 
pictures  are  rendered  the  more  striking,  by  the  per- 
sonages of  a  truly  comic  cast  that  are  always  introdu- 
ced into  them  :  nevertheless,  we  may  sometimes  find 
with  these  comedies  the  fault  of  being  too  reasonable  ; 
they  are  too  carefully  adapted  to  fulfil  the  purpose  of 
the  motto  in  front  of  the  stage  :  to  correct  by  laughing 
f  corriger  les  moeurs  en  riant.)  They  have  too  many 
young  people  in  debt,  too  many  fathers  of  families 
who  have  become  embarrassed.  Moral  lessons  arc 
not  the  province  of  comedy,  and  there  is  even  some 
danger  in  admitting  them  into  it ;  for  when  they  prove 
fatit;'uing,  it  is  too  possible  that  the  impression  produ- 
ced at  the  theatre  may  become  the  ha!3itual  feeling  of 
real  life. 

Kotzt'bue  has  borrowed  from  a  Danish  poet,  Hoi- 
berg,  a  comedy  which  has  met  with  great  success  in 
Germany  ;  it  is  entitled  ^'  Don  Ranudo  Colibrados  •/* 
it  is  a  ruinetl  gentle-nan,  who  tries  to  pass  himselt  iff 
for  a  man  of  foriune,  and  employs  in  making  a  snevv, 
the  little  money  he  has,  which  is  scarcely  sufficient  to 
keep  himself  and  his  family  from  starving  The  subject 
of  this  piece  serves  as  an  appendage  and  contrast  to 
Moliere's,  "  Bourgeois  G ennUiomme who  wishes  to 
pass  for  a  gentleman  :  there  are  many  lively,  and  some 
truly  coiuic  scenes  in  the  "  Poor  Nobleman  but  it 
is  a  barbarous  sort  of  comedy.  Tne  point  of  ridicule 
that  Moiierg  has  seized  is  intrinsically  gay,  but  there 


ex  GERMAN  COmDV.  ^ 

is  real  misery  at  the  fouDdatior,  of  that  which  the 
Danish  poet  has  adopted  ;  no  doubt,  it  almost  always 
requires  great  intrepidity  of  genius  to  treat  human  life 
as  a  jest,  and  comic  force  supposes  a  character  at  least 
of  indifference  ;  but  it  would  be  wrong  to  push  this 
force  so  far  as  to  brave  the  feeling  of  compassion  ;  art 
itself  would  suffer  by  it,  to  say  nothing  of  delicacy  ; 
for  the  slightest  impression  of  grief  is  sufBcient  to 
tarnish  all  that  is  poetical  in  the  full  abandonment  of 
the  soul  to  gaiety. 

The  comedies  of  Kotzebue's  own  invention,  in  gen- 
eral, bear  marks  of  the  same  talent  as  his  tragic  pie* 
ces,  the  knowledge  of  stage  effect,  and  an  imagination 
fruitful  in  the  invention  of  striking  situations.  It  has 
been  for  some  time  past  pretended,  that  to  laugh  or  cry 
proves  nothing  in  favour  either  of  comedy  or  tragedy; 
I  am  far  from  being  of  this  opinion  :  the  desire  of  live- 
ly emotions  is  the  source  of  the  greatestpleasures  that 
can  be  derived  from  the  fine  arts  ;  but  we  must  not 
conclude  from  thence  that  tragedy  should  be  changed 
into  melo-drame,  or  comedies  into  Bartholomew  Fair 
farces,  but  real  talent  consists  in  composing  in  such  a 
manner,  as  to  produce  in  the  same  play,  or  even  in 
the  same  scene  of  a  play,  food  for  the  tears  or  the 
laughter  of  the  populace,  and  an  inexhaustible  subject 
for  the  reflexions  of  the  thinking  pan  of  the  audience. 

Parody,  properly  so  called,  can  hardly  be  admitted 
on  the  German  stage  ;  tlieir  tragedies  almost  always 
aflbrding  a  mixture  of  heroic  and  subaltern  personages, 
give  little  room  to  this  species  of  humour.  The 
pompous  majesty  of  the  French  theatre  is  alone  capa- 
ble of  givin-c^  force  to  tlie  contrast  of  a  burlesque  We 
remark  in  Shakspearc,  and  sometimes  in  the  German 
■writers  also,  a  bold  and  singular  manner  of  displaying, 
even  in  tragedy,  the  ridiculous  side  of  human  nature  ; 
and  when  the  power  of  pathos  can  be  set  in  oppobition 
to  this  impression,  the  effect  of  the  whole  becomes 
greater.  The  French  is  the  only  theatre  in  whic:  tr-e 
boundaries  of  comedy  and  tragedy  are  dislinctly  mark- 
ed ;  every  where  eise,  genius,  like  the  let  of  nature^ 
employs  gaiety  as  the  means  of  snarpenlni^  si^i^^' 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


I  have  seen  at  Weimar  some  of  Terence's  plays  lite- 
rally translated  into  German,  and  played  with  masks, 
nearly  resembling  those  of  the  ancients  ;  these  masks 
do  not  cover  the  whole  countenance,  they  only  substi- 
tute more  comic  or  more  regular  features  to  the  real 
features  of  the  actor,  and  give  to  his  person  an  expres- 
sion analogous  to  thafof  the  character  he  is  to  perform. 
The  physiognomy  of  a  great  actor  is  vastly  superior  to 
this  ;  but  the  middling  class  of  performers  gains  by  it. 
The  Germans  seek  to  appropriate  to  tliemselves,  the 
ancient  and  modern  inventions  of  all  countries  ;  never- 
theless, they  possess  nothing  really  national,  in  respect 
of  comedy,  but  popular  buffoonery,  and  pieces  in 
%vhich  the  marvellous  furnishes  matter  for  pleasantry. 

An  example  of  this  may  be  cited  in  an  opera  which 
is  performed  on  all  the  stages  from  one  end  of  Ger- 
many  to  the  other,  called  The  Nymph  of  the  Danubcj 
or  The  Nymph  of  the  Spree,  just  as  the  piece  hap- 
pens to  be  played  at  Vienna  or  at  Berlin.  A  knight 
lias  become  the  object  of  a  fairy's  passion,  and  is  sepa- 
rated from  her  by  circum.stance ;  a  long  while  afier  he 
marries,  and  chooses  for  his  wife  a  very  worthy  woman, 
but  who  has  nothing  seductive,  either  of  wit  or  imagina- 
lion  :  the  knight  accommodates  himself  as  well  as  he 
can  to  this  situation,  wliich  appears  to  him  so  much 
the  more  natural,  as  it  is  common  ;  for  few  persons 
understand  that  it  is  superiority  of  soul  and  of  intel- 
lect that  most  nearly  approaches  to  the  original  of  our 
nature.  Tlie  fairy  is  unable  to  lose  the  remembrance 
of  her  lover,  and  pursues  iiim  by  the  wonders  of  her 
art ;  every  time  that  he  begins  to  establish  himself  in 
his  domestic  economy,  she  drav/s  his  attention  by  pro- 
digies, and  thus  av/akens  in  him  the  recollection  of 
their  past  affection. 

If  the  knight  approaches  the  banks  of  a  river,  he 
hears  its  waves  murmuring  the  lays  which  the  fairy  was 
accustomed  to  sing  to  him  ;  if  he  invites  guests  to  his 
table,  winged  genii  place  themselves  at  the  board,  and 
spread  a  general  consternation  among  the  prosaic 
friends  and  relatives  of  his  wife.  Wherever  he  goes, 
Sowers,  dances,  and  coacerts,  spring-  up  to  harrass. 


QX  GERMAN  COMEDY. 


35 


like  phaiitoms,  Ibe  life  of  the  faithless  lover ;  and  on 
the  other  side  maiignarjt  spirits  a^iuise  themselves  in 
tomientin,^  his  servant,  wlio,  in  his  way  also,  de- 
sires nothing  so  much  as  never  m.orc  to  hear  or  speak 
of  poetry:  at  last,  the  fairy  is  reconciled  to  the  knig^ht, 
on  condition  that  he  shall  pass  three  days  with  her  in 
every  year  ;  and  his  wife  wiilin^ly  consents  to  let  her 
husband  derive  from  the  society  of  the  fairy  that  enthu- 
siasm which  seems  so  Vv-eli  lo  ensure  the  enj(  yment  of 
what  Vv-e  love.  Tne  subject  of  this  piece  appears  to 
be  more  inc^-enious  than  popular ;  but  the  marvellous 
scenes  are  mixed  and  varied  in  it  with  so  much  art, 
that  it  equally  amuses  ail  classes  of  spectators. 

The  new  literary  scnool,  in  Germany,  has  a  system 
in  comedy,  as  well  as  in  evci  y  tliini^-  else  ;  the  delinea- 
tion of  m.anners  does  not  suffice  to  exciie  its  interest, 
it  requires  imaginati oii  in  the  conception  of  the  sub- 
jects, and  in  the  hivention  ol  the  characters  ;  the  m.ar- 
velious,  allegory,  history,  no  diversity  of  comic  situa- 
tions appears  too  much  for  it.  The  writers  of  this 
school  have  given  the  name  of  ike  arbitrary  con  ic 
C comique  jirbitriarr^J  to  that  free  range  of  all  the 
ideas  without  restraint  and  without  determinate  end. 
Tiicy  rely,  in  this  respect,  on  the  example  of  Aristo- 
phanes, not  assuredly  because  they  approve  the  licen- 
tiousness of  his  pieces,  but  they  ar.  struck  with  the 
vein  of  gaiety  which  they  exhibit,  and  they  would  wil- 
liiigly  introduce  among  the  moderns  that  daring 
co.uedy  which  makes  sport  of  the  universe,  instead  of 
corfining  itself  to  v/hat  is  ridiculous  m  the  different 
classes  of  society.  The  efforts  ot  the  new  school 
tend,  in  general,  to  give  m.ore  force  and  independence 
to  the  understanding  in  every  province  ;  arid  whatever 
successes  they  exptrience  in  this  attempt,  world  be  a 
victory  for  litera.'ure,  and  still  more  for  the  energy  of 
the  German  character  itself  ;  but  it  is  always  ciiffi  uit  to 
intiucnce,by  general  ideas,  ihe  spontaneous  e  ff  usions  of 
the  imagination;  and  besides,  a  comedy,  caicuiated  to 
lead  the  poi)Uiacej  like  that  of  the  Greeks,  would 
never  a!:;ree  with  the  actual  state  of  European  society. 

Aristophanes  lived  under  a  government  so  repub- 


@F  LITERATURE, ANC  THE  ARTS. 


Hcan,  that  the  people  had  a  share  in  every  part  of  Itj 
and  affairs  of  state  \vere  easily  transferred  from  the 
forum  to  the  theatre'.  He  lived  in  a  country  where 
philosophical  speculations  vvere  almost  as  familiar  to 
all  men  aS  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  art,  because  the 
schools  vvere  held  in  the  open  air,  and  the  most  abstract 
ideas  vvere  clothed  in  the  brilliant  colours  which  the 
'sky  and  nature  lent  to  them  ;  but  how  create  anew 
all  this  animation  of  life  amidst  the  frosts  of  our  at- 
mosphere, and  wi  h  f>ur  domestic  habits  of  existence  ? 
Modern  civilization  has  multiplied  the  means  of  ob- 
serving the  human  heart:  man  is  better  acqriahitr-d 
with  man  ;  and  the  souL  as  it  were,  dissrminatcr!,  of- 
ff  rs  to  the  writer  a  thousand  new  shades  of  varie  ty. 
Comedy  takes  advartage  of  these  shades, and  when  able 
to  9,ive  them  the  relief  of  dramatic  vsituations,  the 
spectator  is  delighted  to  recognize  on  the  stage,  char- 
acters such  a*  he  may  easily  meet  vvilh  in  tlie  worid  ; 
but  the  introduction  of  the  people  at  large  into  come- 
dy, of  chorusses  into  tragedy,  of  allegorical  pers  n- 
ages,  of  sects  of  philosophy,  in  short,  of  ail  t!;at  pre- 
sents men  en  ?7iasse,  and  in  an  abstract  manner,  would 
never  please  the  spectators  or  our  times,  they  re- 
quire specific  names  and  individual  characters  ;  they 
seek  the  interest  of  romance  even  in  comedy,  and 
society  on  the  stage. 

Among  the  writers  of  the  new  school,  Tieck  pos- 
sesses, most  of  all,  the  true  fet-ling  of  pleasantry  ; 
not  that  he  has  composed  a  si.igie  conicdy  thut  can  be 
acted,  or  that  those  he  has  written  are  wtdl  arianged, 
but  they  display  brilliant  traces  of  very  orii^inal  i-u- 
mour.  At  first  he  seized,  in  a  uianner  which  reminds 
us  of  La  Fontaine,  the  handle  lor  pleasajjtry  which 
animals  are  calculated  to  furnish.  He  has  com):osed 
a  comedy  entitled  Pui-s  in  Boots,"  w  hich  is  adii.ira- 
bie  in  this  manner.  1  know  not  wnat  eficct  would  be 
produced  on  the  stage  by  speaking  aninials  ;  perhaps 
they  are  more  amusing  to  be  imagined  than  to  lv  seen  ; 
but  these  animals  personified,  and  acth)g  like  Hien, 
give,  notwithstanding,  an  idea  of  tne  real  comcuy 
which  nature  inspires. 


ON' ^;ESMA^-Y  COMEBV. 


35' 


Tieck  also  interests  us  by  the  direction  he  has 
Itnown  how  to  g-ive  to  his  talent  for  ridicule  ;  he  bends 
its  whole  force  against  a  calculating  and  plodding  spir- 
it ;  and  as  mest  of  the  pleasantries  of  society  have  for 
their  object  to  cast  ridicule  upon  enthusiasm,  we  love 
the  author  who  ventures  himself  foot  to  foot  against 
prudence,  selfishness,  all  those  qualities  that  pretend 
to  the  appellation  of  reason,  behind  v/hich  the  n  id- 
dling  sort  of  people  think  themselves  securely  placed 
to  shoot  their  arrows  against  superior  characters  or 
abilities.  They  rely  on  what  they  cali  a  just  medium 
to  censure  every  thing  distinguished  ;  and  while  eie- 
gance  consists  in  the  superfluous  abundance  of  objects 
of  external  luxury,  it  seems  as  if  this  same  elegance 
interdicted  all  luxury  in  the  mind,  all  exultation  in 
sentiments,  in  short,  all  that  does  not  immediately 
tend  to  improve  the  prosperity  of  worldly  affairs. 
Modern  selfishness  has  found  out  the  art  of  praising 
reserve  and  moderation  in  all  things,  so  as  to  mask 
itself  under  the  semblance  oi'  wisdom  ;  and  it  was  only 
at  length  perceived  that  sucii  opinions  might  well  an- 
nihilate genius,  generosity,  love,  and  religion  :  what 
would  it  leav€  that  is  worth  the  pain  of  living  ? 

Two  of  Tieck's  comedies,  "  Octavian,"  and  "  Prince 
«  Zerbin,"  are,  both  of  them,  very  ingeniously  com- 
bined. A  son  of  the  Emperor  Octavian  (Ein  imagina- 
rv  personage  placed  by  a  fairy  tale  under  the  reign  of 
King  Dagobert),  while  yet  an  infant  in  the  cradle,  is 
lost  in  a  forest.  A  citizen  of  Paris  finds  him,  brings 
him  up  with  his  own  son,  and  makes  himself  pass  for 
his  father.  At  twenty  years  old,  the  heroical  inclina- 
tions of  the  young  prince  betray  him  under  every  cir- 
cumstance, and  nothing  is  more  striking  than  the  con- 
trast between  his  character  and  that  of  his  pretended 
brother,  whose  blood  ^does  not  belie  the  educaiion  he 
has  received.  The  efforts  of  the  sage  citizen,  to  cram 
the  head  of  his  adopted  son  with  lessons  of  domestic 
economy,  are  altogether  useless :  he  ser.ds  him  to 
market  to  purchase  some  bullocks  ;  the  yoimg  man, 
on  his  return,  sees  a  hawk  in  the  hands  of  a  hunts- 
mai. ;  and,  enchanted  with  its  beauty,  exchanges  the 
VOL.  n.  D 


OF  LiTERATXJRE  AND  THE  AUtS. 


4)ullocks  for  the  hawk,  and  comes  back  quite  proud  oF 
having  ©btained  such  a  bird  at  such  a  price.  Another 
time,  he  meets  a  horse,  and  is  transported  with  its 
warlike  air:  he  enquires  the  priae  of  it^,  and,  when  he 
is  informed,  angry  at  their  asking  so  little  for  so  no- 
ble an  animal,  he  pays  twice  the  value  for  it. 

The  pretended  father  for  a  long  time  resists  the 
young  man's  natural  propensities,  which  animate  him 
•with  ardour  in  the  pursuit  of  danger  and  glory ;  but 
ivhen  he  finds  himself  at  last  unable  to  prevent  him 
from  taking  arms  against  the  Saracrns,  who  are  be- 
sieging Paris,  and  when  he  hears  his  exploits  made 
the  subject  of  universal  praise,  the  old  citizen,  on  his 
side,  is  seized  by  a  sort  of  poetical  contagion;  and  no- 
thing is  more  pleasant  than  the  whimsical  mixture  of 
what  he  was,  and  of  what  he  wishes  to  become,  of  his 
vulgar  language,  and  the  gigantic  images  with  which 
Lis  discourse  is  filled.  At  last  the  young  man  is  re- 
cognized for  the  Emperor's  son,  and  each  individual 
rcturr.s  to  the  rank  which  is  suitable  to  his  character. 
This  subject  furnishes  a  number  of  scenes  full  of  wit 
and  true  comic  humour ;  and  the  contrast  between 
common  life  and  chivalrous  sentiments  was  never  bet- 
ter represented. 

"  Prince  Zerbin"  is  a  very  lively  painting  of  the 
astonishment  of  a  whole  court,  at  witnessing  in  its 
sovereign  a  propensity  to  enthusiasm,  devotement, 
and  all  the  noble  imprudencies  of  a  generous  character. 
All  the  old  courtiers  suspect  that  he  is  mad,  and  advise 
him  to  travel  to  set  his  ideas  right  as  to  things  as  they 
rea;ly  are.  They  assign  to  him  a  very  reasonable  man 
for  his  governor,  to  bring  him  back  to  the  positive 
knowledge  of  life.  One  fine  day  in  summer,  he  is 
walking  abroad  with  his  pupil  in  a  beautiful  wood, 
while  ti-e  birds  are  heard  to  sing,  the  wind  gently 
stirs  the  leaves,  and  animated  nature  seems,  on  all 
sides,  to  be  addressing  a  prophetic  language  to  man. 
The  governor  perceives  in  these  vague  and  multiplied 
sensations,  nothing  but  noise  atid  confusion ;  and 
when  he  returns  to  the  palace,  he  congratulates  him- 
self on  seeing  the  trees  converted  into  household  fur- 


ox  GEKMAX  COMEDY. 


3? 


niture,  all  the  productions  of  nature  rendered  subser= 
vient  to  utility,  and  artificial  order  instead  of  the  tu- 
multuous movement  of  natural  existence.  The  cour- 
tiers are  reassured  when,  on  his  return  from  his  trav- 
els, Prince  Zerbin,  enlightened  by  experience,  prom- 
ises to  concern  himself  no  longer  about  the  fine  arts, 
poetry,  and  exalted  sentiments,  or  any  thing  else,  in 
&hort,'but  what  tends  to  the  triumph  of  selfishness  over 
enthusiasm. 

What  the  generality  of  men  are  most  afraid  of,  is 
the  being  taken  for  dupes,  and  who  think  it  much  less 
ridiculous  to  appear  wrapped  up  in  themselves,  under 
every  circumstance,  than  deceived  even  in  one.  There 
is,  therefore,  wit,  and  a  noble  employment  of  wit,  m 
turning  incessantly  into  ridicule  all  personal  calcula- 
tion ;  enough  of  it  will  always  remain  to  keep  the 
vrorld  in  motion,  while,  one  of  these  days,  the  very 
remembrance  even  of  a  nature  truly  elevated,  may 
vanish  altogether. 

In  Tieck's  comedies  is  to  be  found  a  gaiety  arising 
out  of  characters,  and  not  consisting  in  witty  epigram  ; 
a  gaiety  in  which  the  imagination  is  inseparable  from, 
the  pleasantry;  butsometim.es  this  very  imagination 
sets  comic  humour  at  a  distance,  and  brings  back  lyr- 
ical poetry  into  scenes  v'here  we  expect  to  find  only 
the  ridiculous  in  motion.  Nothing  is  so  difficult  to  the 
Germans,  as  to  abstain  from  abandoning  them.selves, 
in  all  their  works,  to  reverie  ;  and  yet  comedy,  and  the 
theatre  in  general,  are  hardly  proper  for  it ;  for  of  all 
impressions,  reverie  is  precisely  that  which  is  the 
most  solitary;  we  can  hardly  communicate  its  inspira- 
tions to  the  most  intimate  friend  :  how  is  it  possible, 
then,  to  associate  with  them  an  assembled  multitude  r 

Among  these  allegorical  pif^ces,  must  be  reckoned 

The  Triumph  of  Sentimentality^"  a  little  comedy  of 
Goethe's,  in  which  he  has  very  ingeniously  availed  him- 
self of  the  double  absurdity  of  affected  enthusiasm 
and  real  inanity.  The  principal  personage  in  this  piecer 
seems  to  be  prepossessed  with  all  the  ideas  which  im- 
ply a  strong  imagination  and  a  profound  intellect ;  and 
yet  he  is  in  truth  only  a  prince  well  educated^  higliljc 


m 


OP  LITERATURE  ANB  THB  ARTS. 


polished,  and  very  obedient  to  the  rules  of  propriety; 
lie  has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  add  to  all  this  a  sensibil- 
ity at  command,  the  affectation  of  which  continually 
betrays  him..  He  thinks  he  loves  the  gloom  of  forests, 
the  m»oonlight,  and  starry  nights  ;  but,  as  he  is  afraid 
of  cold  and  fatigue,  he  has  scenes  painted  for  him  to 
represent  these  various  objects,  and  never  travels  with- 
out being  followed  by  a  great  waggon,  in  which  all  the 
feeauties  of  nature  are  carried  after  him. 

This  sentimental  prince  also  fancies  himself  in  love 
"with  a  woman,  whose  wit  and  genius  have  been  high?y 
extolled  to  him.  This  woman,  to  try  him,  puts  in  her 
place  a  veiled  puppet,  which,  as  we  may  suppose,  says 
nothing  in  the  least  degree  improper,  and  whose  si- 
lence passes  for  the  reserve  of  good  taste,  and  the 
melancholy  thoughtfulness  of  a  tender  soul. 

The  prince,  enchanted  with  tliis.  companion,,  accord- 
ing to  his  v/ishcs,  asks  the  puppet  in  marriage  ;  and 
only  at  last  discovers  that  he  is  unhappy  enough  to 
have  chosen  a  mere  doll  for  his  wife,  while  his  court 
afforded  him  such  a  number  of  women,  v/ho  might 
Iiave  united  in  themselves  all  the  principal  advantages 
«f  such  a  partner. 

It  cannot,  however,-  be  denied,  that  ingenious  ideas 
are  not  enough  to  furnish  out  a  good  comedy,  and  the 
French,  in  the  quality  of  comic  writers,  have  the  ad- 
vantage over  all  other  nations.  The  knowledge  of 
Bien,  and  the  art  of  making  use  of  that  knowledge,  se- 
cures to  them  the  highest  rank  in  this  department ; 
but  we  might  perhaps  sometimes  wish,  even  in  Slo- 
iiere's  best  pieces,  that  reasoning  satire  held  less  place, 
and  that  imagination  iiad  more  scope  in  them.  The 
f  Festin  de-  Fierre"  is,  among  all  his  comedies,  that 
which  has  the  nearest  resemblance  to  the  German  sys- 
tem :  a  prodigy  that  makes  one  shudder,  serves  as 
the  moving  principle  to  the  most  comic  situations-; 
and  the  greatest  effect:-,  of  the  imagination  are  mingled 
with  the  most  lively  shades  of  pleasantly.  This  sub- 
iect,  equally  witty  and  poetical,  is  borrowed  from  the 
Spainards.  Bold  conceptions  are  very  rare  in  Fi  ance  ; 
i'h  iitergLiure,  they  like  to  work  in  safety  ;  but  vybenc^^- 


ox  GERMAN  CO^ffiBY. 


41 


er  a  fortunate  circumstance  has  ericourap;ed  them  to 
risk  themselves,  taste  directs  boldness  witn  wonder- 
ful address  ;  and  a  foreign  invention,  thrown  into  meth- 
od by  the  art  of  a  Frenchman,  will  always  be  a  first  rate 
production  of  genius. 


▼•I..  II. 


OF  LITEFvATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Of  Declamation^ 


T 

J  HE  art  of  declamation,  leaving  only  recollections 
Ijehind  it,  and  being  incapable  of  erecting  any  durable 
monument,  it  has  followed  that  men  have  reflected 
l5Ut  little  upon  what  it  is  composed  of.  Nothing  is  so 
easy  as  the  moderate  exercise  of  this  art,  but  it  is  not 
un.justiy  that  in  its  perfection  it  excites  so  high  a  de- 
cree of  enthusiasiTj,  and,  far  from  depreciating  this 
impression  as  a  transient  emotion,  I  think  that  regular 
causes  niay  be  assigned  to  it.  We  seldom  attain,  in 
Jife,  to  penetrate  the  secret  thoughts  of  men  :  affecta- 
tion and  falsehood,  coldness  and  modesty,  exaggerate, 
vary,  restrain,  or  conceal  whatever  parses  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  heart.  A  great  actor  puts  in  evidence  the 
,signs  of  truth  in  sentiments  and  in  characters,  and  dis- 
eovers  to  us  the  certain  marks  of  real  inclinations  and 
emotions.  So  many  individuals  pass  through  life  with- 
out considering  the  danger  of  their  passions  and  their 
,£trength,  that  the  theatre  often  reveals  man  to  man, 
5ind  inspires  him  with  a  holy  dread  of  the  tempests  of 
the  soul.  In  fact,  what  words  are  capable  of  painting 
them  like  an  accent,  a  gesture,  a  look  !  Worcis  tell  us 
less  than  accent,  accent  less  than  physiognomy,  and 
the  inexpressible  is  precisely  that  with  which  a  sublime 
actor  brings  us  acquainted. 

The  same  differences  that  exist  between  the  tragic 
system  of  the  Germans  and  that  of  the  French,  are 
also  to  be  found  in  their  miode  of  declaiming  ;  the  Ger- 
mans imitate  nature  as  closely  as  they  are  able,  they 
have  no  affectation  but  that  of  simplicity ;  but  even 
this  may  be  an  aflectation  in  the  fine  arts.  The  Ger- 
man actors  sometimes  touch  the  tieart  deeply,  and 
,S0inetimes  leave  the  spectat©r  iii  a  state  of  perfec'i' 


OF  DEGLAMATieS'. 


4S 


frigidity  ;  they  then  trust  themselves  to  his  patience, 
and  are  sure  of  not  being  deceived.  The  Engiish  have 
more  of  majesty  than  the  Germans  in  their  mode  of 
reciting  verses,  but  they  nevertheless  want  the  habitu- 
al pomp  which  the  French  nation,  and  above  all  French 
tragedy,  require  of  their  actors  ;  our  style  will  not  ad- 
mit of  mediocrity,  for  it  brings  us  back  to  the  natural 
only  by  the  very  beauty  of  art  itself.  The  second  rate 
actors,  in  Germany,  are  cold  and  quiet;  they  are  of- 
ten wanting  in  tragic  effect,  but  are  hardly  ever  ridicu- 
lous :  it  is  the  same  on  the  German  stage  as  in  socie- 
ty ;  we  meet  with  people  who  sometimes  fatigue  us, 
and  that  is  all ;  while,  on  the  French  stage,  we  be- 
come impatient  if  our  emotions  are  not  excited:  tur- 
gid and  unnatural  sounds  then  disgust  us  so  entirely  of 
tragedy,  that  there  is  no  parody,  how  vulgar  soever, 
which  we  do  not  prefer  to  the  insipidity  of  mannerism. 

The  accessories  of  art,  machinery,  and  decorations, 
ought  to  be  more  attended  to  in  Germany  than  in  France, 
since  these  means  are  more  frequently  employed  in 
the  former  nation.  Iffland  has  been  able  to  accomplish, 
at  Berlin,  all  that  can  be  desired  in  this  respect:  but 
at  Vienna,  they  neglect  even  the  necessary  means  for 
the  good  representation  of  the  material  parts  of  trag- 
edy. Memory  is  infinitely  more  cultivated  by  the 
French  than  by  the  German  actors.  The  prompter, 
at  Vienna,  used  to  furnish  most  of  the  actors  with  ev- 
ery word  of  their  parts ;  and  I  have  seen  him  follovv- 
ing  Othello  from  one  side  scene  to  another,  to  prompt 
him  with  the  verses  which  he  had  to  pronounce  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stage  on  poignarding  Desdemona. 

The  theatre  at  Weimar  is  infinitely  better  ordered 
in  all  respects.  The  prince,  himself  an  intelligent 
man,  and  the  man  of  genius,  the  connoisseur  in  the 
arts,  who  preside  there,  have  found  the  means  of  uni- 
ting taste  and  elegance  to  that  boldness  which  encour- 
ages new  adventures. 

On  this  stage,  as  on  all  others  in  Germany,  the 
same  actors  play  both  comic  and  tragic  parts.  It  is 
said  that  this  diversity  stands  in  the  way  of  their  ever 
becoming  eminent  ia  either.   Yet  the  greatest  of  the- 


44  OF  LITERATURE  AM)  THE  ARTS, 


atrical  geniusses,  Garrickand  Talma,  have  united  thetsi 
both.  The  flexibility  of  organs,  which  transmits  dif- 
ferent  impressions  with  equal  facility,  seems  to  me 
the  seal  of  natural  talent ;  and  in  fiction,  as  in  reality, 
melancholy  and  gaiety  are  possibly  derived  from  the 
same  source.  Besides,  in  Germany,  the  pathetic  and 
the  humorous,  so  often  succeed  and  are  mingled  with 
each  other  in  tragedies,  that  it  is  very  desirable  for  the 
actors  to  possess  the  power  of  expressing  both  alike  ; 
and  the  best  German  actor,  Iffland,  has  given  the  ex- 
ample of  it  with  deserved  success.  I  have  not  met, 
in  Germany,  with  any  good  actors  in  high  comedyj 
marquisses,  coxcombs,  8cc.  What  constitutes  grace 
in  this  description  of  parts,  is  that  which  the  Italians 
call  the  disinvoltura,  and  which  the  French  would  ex- 
press by  the  air  degage.  The  habit  which  the  Ger- 
mans possess,  of  giving  importance  to  every  thing,  is 
precisely  that  which  is  most  contrary  to  this  easy  light- 
ness. But  it  is  impossible  to  carry  originality,  the 
comic  vein,  and  the  art  of  painting  characters,  to  a 
greater  length  than  Iffland  has  done  in  his  parts.  I 
do  not  believe  that  we  have  ever  seen  on  the  French 
stage  a  genius  more  varied,  or  more  unexpected  than 
his,  or  an  actor  who  ventures  to  render  natural  defects 
and  absurdities  with  so  striking  an  expression.  There 
are  certain  given  models  hi  comedy,  avaricious  fathers, 
spendthrift  sons,  knavish  servants,  duped  guardians; 
but  Iffland's  parts,  such  as  he  conceives  them,  can  en- 
ter into  none  of  these  moulds :  each  of  them  must  be 
designated  by  its  iianie  ;  for  they  are  so  many  individu- 
als remarkably  different  from  each  other,  and  in  ail  of 
"Whom  Iffland  appears  to  exist  as  in  himself. 

His  manner  of  playing  tragedy  is  also,  in  my  opin- 
ion, of  grand  effect.  The  calm  simplicity  of  his  de- 
clamation in  the  fine  part  of  Walstein,  can  never  be 
effaced  from  the  memory.  The  impression  he  produ- 
ces is  gradual ;  it  seems  at  first  that  his  apparent  cold- 
ness will  prove  incapable  of  exciting  any  emotion; 
but,  as  the  piay  goes  on,  that  emotion  grows  upon  us 
in  a  continually  accelerated  progression,  and  the  smal- 
lest word  exercises  a  [^rcat  power  when  there  reigns 


OF  D^iCLAMATION. 


4$ 


in  the  general  tone  a  noble  tranquility  that  sets  off  et- 
ery  shade,  and  constantly  preserves  the  same  colour 
of  character  amidst  all  the  variations  of  passion. 

Iffland,  who  is  as  superior  in  the  theory  as  in  the 
practice  of  his  art,  has  published  several  remarkab?y 
sensible  works  on  declamation  ;  he  gives  at  first  a 
sketch  of  the  different  epochs  of  the  history  of  the 
German  theatre,  the  stiff  and  heavy  imitation  of  the 
French,  the  larmoyante  sensibility  of  dramas,  of  a  na- 
ture so  prosaic,  as  to  have  made  the  writers  even  for- 
get the  art  of  versifying;  finally,  the  return  to  poetry 
and  ima£;;inatIon  that  constitutes  the  prevailing  taste  in 
Germany  at  the  present  time.  There  is  not  an  accent, 
not  a  gesture  of  which  Inland  has  not  been  able  to  dis^ 
cover  the  cause  as  a  philosopher  and  an  artist. 

One  character  in  his  pieces  furnishes  him  with  the 
most  ingenious  observations  on  comic  performance  ;  it 
is  that  of  a  man  advanced  in  years,  who  ail  at  once 
abandons  his  old  sentiments  and  habits,  to  clothe  him- 
self in  the  costume  and  opinions  of  the  new  g;eneration, 
T.'ie  character  of  this  man  has  nothing  wicked  in  it,  and 
yet  he  is  as  much  led  astray  by  vanity,  as  if  it  had  been 
intrinsically  bad.  He  has  suffered  his  daughter  to  con- 
tract a  reasonable-,  tiiough  obscure  alliance,  and  then, 
on  a  sudden,  advises  her  to  obtain  a  divorce.  With 
some  fashionable  toy  in  his  hand,  smiling  graciously, 
and  balancing  himself,  now  on  one  foot,  then  on  the 
other,  he  proposes  to  his  child  to  break  the  most 
sacred  ties  :  but  the  existence  of  old  at^e  that  discov- 
ers itself  through  a  forced  elegance,  the  real  em.ba?- 
rassment  straggling  through  his  apparent  indifference, 
these  are  traits  which  Iffland  has  seized  with  admirable 
sagacity. 

In  treating  of  Francis  Moor,  the  brother  of  Schil- 
ler's Captain  of  the  Robbers,  Ifiland  examines  in  what 
manner  tlie  parts  of  villains  should  be  played.  "  The 
actor,"  he  says,  "  must  t^ke  pains  to  make  it  appear  hy 
*'  what  motives  the  character  has  become  what  it  is, 
"  what  circumstances  have  contributed  to  the  deprava» 
"  tion  of  the  soul  ;  in  short,  the  actor  should  become 
the  sedulous  defender  ©f  the  part  he  represents."  lii 


46  OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


fact,  there  can  be  no  truth,  even  in  villainy,  unless  Wis 
attend  to  the  shades  of  character  which  evince  that 
man  becomes  bad  only  by  degrees. 

Iffland  reminds  us  also  of  the  prodigious  sensation 
excited,  in  the  play  of  Emilia  Galotti,  by  Eckhoif,  for- 
merly a  very  celebrated  German  actor.  When  Odoard 
is  informed  by  the  prince's  mistress  that  the  honour  of 
his  daughter  is  threatened,  he  v;ishes  to  conceal  from 
this  woman,  whom  he  despises,  the  indignation  and 
grief  that  she  excites  in  his  soul,  and  his  hands  un- 
known to  himself,  were  employed  in  tearing  thepltime 
on  his  hat,  with  a  convulsive  motion  that  produced  an 
effect  truly  terrible.  The  actors  who  succeeded  Eck- 
hoff  took  care  to  tear  their  plumes  also  ;  but  they  fell 
to  the  ground  without  any  body's  remarking  it ;  foi;= 
genuine  emotion  was  wanting,  to  give  to  the  most  in* 
different  actions  that  sublime  truth  which  agitates  the 
■feouls  of  the  spectators. 

Iffland's  theory  of  gestures  is  very  ingenious.  He 
laughs  at  those  arms  of  windmills  that  can  answer  no. 
purpose  but  in  the  declamation  of  moral  sentences  ; 
and  he  thinks  that,  in  general,  gestures  few  in  number, 
and  confined  within  narrow  limits,  give  better  indica- 
tion of  real  passions  ;  but  in  this  respect,  as  in  many 
others,,  there  are  tv/o  very  distinct  classes  of  talent, 
that  which  bears  the  character  of  poetical  enthusiasm, 
and  that  which  springs  from  the  spirit  of  observation  ; 
the  one  or  the  other  must  predominate,  according  to 
the  nature  of  the  pieces  and  of  the  parts.  The  ges- 
tures which  are  inspired  by  grace,  and  by  the  senti- 
ment of  the  beautiful,  are  not  those  best  adapted  to 
characterize  particular  personages.  Poetry  expresses 
perfection  in  general,  rather  than  a  peculiar  mode  of 
existence  or  feeling.  The  art  of  the  tragic  actor  con- 
sists then  in  presenting  in  his  attitudes  the  image  of 
poetical  beauty,  without  neglecting  the  distinguishing 
traits  of  character  :  the  dominion  of  the  arts  always 
consists  in  the  union  of  the  ideal  with  the  natural. 

When  I  saw  the  play  of  The  Trjemy -fourth  of  Feb- 
nmry^  performed  by  two  celebrated  poets,  A.  W. 
Sphiegei  and  Werner,  I  was  singularly  struck  by  their 


OF  DECLAMATIOiS*: 


47 


tBode  of  declamation.  They  prepared  their  effects  by- 
long  anticipation,  and  plainly  discovered  that  they 
'^vould  have  been  vexed  to  be  applauded  at  the  begin- 
ning. The  whole  was  always  present  Lo  their  thought ; 
and  a  partial  success,  which  might  have  injured  that 
general  effect  would  have  appeared  to  them  only  in  the 
light  of  a  fault.  Schlei>el  made  me  first  perceive,  by 
his  manner  of  acting  in  Werner's  play,  all  the  interest 
of  a  part  which  I  had  scarcely  observed  in  the  reacling. 
It  was  the  innocence  of  guilt,  the  unhappiness  of  a 
worthy  man,  who  has  committed  a  crime  at  the  age  of 
seven  years,  when  he  did  not  yet  know  what  was  crime  ; 
and  who,  although  at  peace  with  his  conscience,  has 
been  unable  to  dissipate  the  uneasiness  of  his  imagina- 
tion. I  judged  the  man  who  was  represented  before 
me,  just  as  we  penetrate  a  real  character,  by  m.otions, 
looks,  and  accents,  which  betray  it  unconsciously.  In 
France,  the  greater  part  of  our  actors  never  appear 
not  to  know  what  they  are  about ;  on  the  contrary, 
there  is  something  studied  in  all  the  means  they  make 
use  of,  and  the  effect  is  always  foreseen. 

Schroeder,  of  wiiom  all  the  Germans  speak  as  an 
admirable  actor,  could  not  bear  to  have  it  said  that  he 
played  weil  at  such  or  such  a  moment,  or  that  he  spoke 
well  such  or  such  a  verse — Have  I  played  the  part 
-well  ?  he  would  ask  ;  have  I  been  the  very  person  I 
represented  ? — and,  in  fact,  his  genius  seemed  to 
change  its  nature  with  every  change  of  part.  In  Fiance 
they  would  not  dare  to  recite  tragedy,  as  he  often  did, 
in  the  ordinary  tone  of  conversation.  There  is  a 
general  colour,  an  established  accent,  which  is  of 
strict  necessity  in  the  Alexandrine  verse  ;  and  the 
most  impassioned  movements  rest  on  this  pedestal  as 
on  an  essential  postulate  of  art.  The  French  actors, 
in  general,  look  to  receive  applause,  and  deserve  u,  at 
almost  every  verse  ;  the  German  actors  pretend  lo  it 
only  at  the  conclusion  of  the  piece,  and  scarcely  ever 
obtain  it  sooner. 

Tne  diversity  of  scenes  and  of  situations  in  tlie  Ger- 
man pieces,  necessarily  gives  room  to  mucn  greater 
variety  in  the  talents  of  the  perioniiers.    The  uumb 


Of  literature  anb  Tim  akts. 


show  tells  to  more  advantage  ;  and  the  patience  of  the 
spectators  permits  a  number  of  details  which  render 
the  pathetic  more  natural.  The  wit  of  an  actor,  in 
France,  consists  almost  entirely  in  declamation  ;  in 
Oermany  there  is  a  much  greater  number  of  accesso- 
ries to  this  principal  art ;  and  even  speech  itself  is 
sometimes  hardly  necessary  to  affect  the  audience. 

When  Schroeder,  playing  the  part  of  King  Lear,  in 
a  German  translation,  was  brought  sleeping  upon  the 
stage,  it  is  said  that  this  sleep  of  wretchedness  and  old 
age,  drew  tears  even  before  he  was  awakened,  before 
his  lamentations  had  made  known  his  sufferings ;  and 
"when  he  bore  in  his  arms  the  body  of  his  yomig  daugh- 
ter Cordelia,  slain  because  she  would  not  abandon  iiim, 
nothing  could  be  so  fine  as  the  strength  given  him  by 
despair.  A  last  hope  supported  him,  he  tried  if  Cor- 
d.eiia  breatiied  stiii  ;  he,  so  aged  himself,  could  not  be- 
lieve that  a  being  so  young  could  have  died  already. 
A  passionate  grief,  in  an  old  mian  half  consumed,  pro- 
tluced  the  most  distressing  emotion. 

The  German  actors,  in  general,  may  be  justly  cen- 
sured for  seldom  pui  ting  in  practice  the  knowledge  of 
the  arts  of  design,  so  largely  spread  abroad  in  their 
nation  :  their  attitudes  are  not  fine  j  the  excess  of  their 
simplicity  often  degenerates  into  awkwardness,  and 
they  scarcely  ever  equal  the  French  in  the  nobleness  ai]d 
elegance  of  their  deporiment  and  motions.  However, 
for  some  time  past,  the  German  actresses  have  studied 
the  art  of  attitude,  and  perfect  themselves  in  that  sort 
grace,  which  is  so  necessary  on  the  stage. 

In  Germany,  they  never  applaud  till  the  end  of  the 
act,  or  very  seldom  interrupt  tne  actor  to  testify  to 
him  the  admiration  he  inspires.  The  Germans  look 
upon  it  as  a  sort  of  barbarism  to  disturb,  by  tumultu- 
ous marks  of  approbation,  the  deep  emotion  with 
which  they  love  to  be  penetrated  in  siU  nee.  But  this 
is  an  additional  difficulty  for  tlie  actors  ;  for  it  requires 
ar*  astonishing  force  oi  genius  to  dispense,  in  declaim- 
ing, with  the  ent  oviiagement  of  the  puljiic.  Inai^art 
Winch  is  entirely  of  emotion,  assenibiies  oi  spectalor-s 


OF  DECLAMATIOjC. 


corr.riiunicate  an  all  powerful  electricity  "\Thich  nothing 
can  suppiy. 

From  an  habitual  exercise  in  the  practice  of  the  art, 
it  may  happen  that  a  good  actor,  in  repeating-  a  per- 
formance, shall  pass  over  the  same  tracks,  and  em- 
ploy the  same  methods,  without  the  spectators  ani- 
mate him  anew;  but  the  first  inspiration  almost  al- 
ways proceeded  from  them.  A  sins^ular  contrast  de- 
serves to  be  remarked.  In  those  fine  arts,  of  v.-hich 
the  creation  is  solitary  and  reSective,  we  lose  whatev- 
er is  natural  when  we  think  of  the  public,  and  it  is 
self-iove  only  that  makes  us  think  of  it.  In  those 
v.-hich  are  of  sudden  impression,  above  all  in  declama- 
tion, the  noise  of  the  plauaits  acts  upon  the  soul  like 
the  sound  of  military  music.  Tnis  ai-imating  sound 
makes  the  blood  circulate  more  swiftly,  and  it  is  not 
cold  vanity  that  is  satisfied  by  it. 

Wlien  a  man  of  genius  appears  in  France,  in  vrhat- 
ever  line,  he  attains  almost  a  ways  to  a  degree  of  per- 
fection without  exam-pie;  for  he  u.  ites  the  boldness 
that  makes  hin;  deviate  from  the  common  roarl  to  good 
taste,  vrhici'i  ii  is  of  io  mucn  importance  to  preserve 
•when  the  originality  of  taleiu  do^s  noi  suffer  from  it. 
It  therefore  seems  to  me  that  Taimaraay  be  cited  as  a 
model  of  boldness  and  moderation,  of  nature  and  of 
dignity.  He  possesses  ail  tiie  secrets  of  he  different 
arts;  his  a  titudes  recal  the  fine  statues  of  antiquiiv  ; 
liis  drafieric,  when  he  least  thhiks  ab<.utit,  is  fjiL^ed  in 
all  bis  motions,  as  if  he  had  had  time  to  arrange  it  with 
the  greatest  care.  The  expression  of  nis  couhtenai'ce, 
that  of  his  eye,  ought  to  be  studied  by  aii  pai  .tei's. 
Sometimes  he  enters  v>-ith  his  eyes  only  iiali  open,  and, 
on  a  sudden,  feeling  makes  rays  of  light  bpiL:g  ir.mi 
them  which  seem  to  illuminate  the  whole  theatre. 

The  sound  of  his  voice  agitates  from  the  moment 
he  speaks,  before  even  tne  sense  of  the  words  he  ut- 
ters can  have  excited  any  emotion.  Where  any  de- 
scriptive poetiy  accidental; y  fincis  place  in  a  tragedy, 
he  has  brought  out  its  btauti-^s  witli  as  mucr.  feeling 
as  if  he  v.  ere  Pindar  nimseif  rcciiii  g  the  odes  of  his 
own  composition.    Ouiers  iiave  ueea  ot  time  to  excite 

VOL.  II,  E 


^0  OP  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


emotion,  and  they  do  well  to  take  time  for  t!ie  purpose  * 
but  in  the  voice  of  this  irsan  there  is  I  know  not  what 
iiQagic  which,  at  its  first  accents,  av/akens  all  the  sym- 
pathies of  the  heart.  The  charm  of  music,  of  paint- 
ing-, of  sculpture,  of  poetry,  and,  above  ail,  of  the 
language  ot"  the  soul,  these  are  the  means  he  employs 
to  deveiope  in  his  auditor,  all  the  force  of  the  generous 
or  of  the  terrible  passions. 

What  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  he  displays  in 
J'lis  manner  of  conceivissg  his  parts  !  he  becomes  their 
second  author  by  his  accents  and  his  physiognomy. 
When  QLdipus  relates  to  Jocasta  how  he  has  killed 
■Lai us,  witi'iouL  knovv-ing  him,  his  recital  begins  thus  : 
J'etois  jeune  et  snjitrbe.  Most  actors,  before  him, 
thought  it  necessary  to  act  the  word  siifierbe^  and  used 
to  draw  up  their  heads  as  a  sign  of  it;  Talma,  who 
feels  that  all  the  recollections  of  the  proud  CEdipus  be- 
gin to  affect  Irim  in  the  nature  of  remorse,  pronounces 
in  atinrid  voice  these  words,  calculated  to  rem.ind  him 
of  a  confidence  that  he  has  lost.  Phorbas  arrives  from 
Coi  inth  at  the  nionicnt  when  CEdipus  has  first  conceiv- 
ed doubts  respecting  his  birth  ;  he  demands  a  private 
conierence  with  him.  Other  actors,  before  Talma, 
siiade  haste  to  turn  to  their  follovrers,  and  dismiss  them 
"with  an  air  of  m.ajesty:  Taima  remains  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  Phorbas  :  he  ctinnot  lose  him  from  his  sight, 
and  only  makes  a  sign  by  waving  his  hand  to  those 
arcuntl  him.  He  has  said  nothing  yet,  but  his  bewil- 
dered motions  betray  the  troubje  of  his  soul  ;  and 
%vhen,  in  the  last  act,  he  exclaims  on  quilting  Jocasta^ 

Oui,  L:iius  est  mon  pex'e  et  je  suis  voire  fils, 

"sve  think  we  see  open  before  us  the  cavern  of  T^ena- 
rus,  into  which  mortals  are  dragged  by  perfidious 
destiny. 

In  Andromache,  when  Hermione,  out  of  her  senses, 
accuses  Orestes  of  having  assassinated  Pyrrhus  with- 
out her  participation,  Orestes  answers, 

Et  ne  m'avez-yous  pas 
"Vous-mema  ici  tautdt  ordoraae  son.  trepasf 


OF  RECLAMATION. 


It  is  said  that  Ls  Kain,  in  reciting^  this  verse,  laid  an 
emphasis  on  every  word,  as  if  to  recal  to  Hermione 
all  the  circumsiances  of  the  order  he  had  received 
from  her.  This  would  be  very  well  before  a  jiuli^e  ; 
but,  before  a  woman  one  loves,  the  despair  of  finding- 
her  unjust  and  cruel,  is  the  only  sentiment  that  fills 
the  soul.  It  is  thus  that  Talma  conceives  the  situa- 
tion  ;  an  exclamation  escapes  from  the  heart  of  Ores- 
tes :  he  pronouncies  the  lirst  words  with  emphasis, 
and  those  that  follow  with  a  sound  of  voice  gradually 
v/eakenin^:  his  arms  fail,  his  countenance  bet^omes 
in  an  histantpale  as  death,  and  the  emotion  of  the  spec- 
tator augments  in  proportion  as  he  seems  to  lose  the 
power  of  expressing'  himself 

The  manner  in  wluch  Talma  recites  the  succeeding, 
mon.  iogue  is  sublim.e  The  kind  of  innocence  that^ 
returns  to  the  soul  of  Orestes  only  to  torture  it,  whcjy 
he  repeats  this  verse  i 

J'assassine  a  regret  un  roi  que  je  revere, 

inspires  a  compassion  which  the  genius  of  Racine  it- 
self could  hardly  have  foreseen  altogether.  Great  ac- 
tors have  almost  always  made  trial  of  themselves  in 
the  madness  of  Orestes  ;  but  it  is  there  above  all  that 
the  grandeur  of  gestures  and  of  features  adds  wonder- 
fully to  the  effect  of  the  despair.  The  power  of  grief 
is  so  much  the  more  terrible,  as  it  displays  itself 
through  the  very  repose  and  dignity  of  a  noble  nature 
In  pieces  taken  from  the  Roman  History,  Talma 
displays  a  talent  of  a  very  different  nature,  but  not  less 
remarkable  in  its  v/ay.  We  understand  'i'acitus  bet- 
ter after  having  seen  hira  perform  the  part  of  Nero; 
he  manifesto  in  tliat  part  a  great  sagacity  ;  for  it  is  only 
by  sagacity  that  a  virtuous  irdnd  seizes  the  symptoms 
of  guilt;  nevertheless,  he  produces  a  still  stronger 
eiTect,  I  think,  in  those  parts  where  we  love  to  aban- 
don ourselves,  in  listening  to  him,  to  the  sentiments 
he  expresses.  He  has  done  Bayard,  in  Du  Beiloy's 
play,  the  service  of  setting  him  free  from  tiiose  airs 
ef  rodomontade  which  other  authors  had  thought  it 


5% 


OP  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


necessary  to  besto\y  upon  Inm  :  this  Gascon  hero  is 
again  become,  thanks  to  Talma,  as  simple  in  tragedy 
as  in  history.  His  costume  in  this  part,  his  plain  and 
appropriate  gestures,  recal  the  statues  of  kni.^ht& 
that  we  see  in  old  churches,  and  we  feel  astonished 
that  a  man  who  possesses  so  truly  the  feeling  of  an- 
cient art,  has  been  able  to  transport  himself  also  to 
the  cSiaracter  of  the  middle  ages. 

Talma  sometimes  plays  the  part  of  Pharan  in  a  tra- 
gedy by  Ducis,  on  an  Arabian  subject,  Abuffar.  A 
number  of  enchanting  verses  sheds  a  wonderful  charm 
over  tliis  tragedy  ;  the  colours  of  the  east,  the  pensive 
iT^elancholy  of  the  south  of  Asia,  the  melancholy  which 
belongs  to  those  regions  where  the  sun  consumes  in- 
stead of  embellishing  nature,  make  themselves  ad- 
mirably felt  in  this  work.  The  same  Talma,  the  Gre- 
cian, the  Roman,  the  chivalrous,  becomes  an  Arab  of 
the  desert,  full  of  energy  and  of  love;  his  looks  arc 
guarded,  as  if  to  avoid  the  heat  of  the  sun's  rays  ;  his 
gestures  evince  an  admirable  alternation  of  indolence 
and  impetuosity;  sor/ietimes  fate  overwhelms  liim, 
sometimes  he  appears  more  powerful  than  nature  her- 
self, and  seems  to  triumph  over  her  ;  the  passion 
-ivhich  devours  him,  the  object  of  which  is  a  woman 
"ivhom  he  believes  to  be  his  sister,  is  concealed  in  his 
-bosom  ;  one  would  say,  by  his  uncertain  pace,  tliat  he 
•wishes  to  fly  from  himself;  his  eyes  turii  themselves 
away  from  her  he  ioves,  his  hands  repel  an  image  which 
he  thinks  he  always  sees  at  his  side,  and  when  at  last 
he  presses  Saiema  to  his  heart,  with  tliis  simple  word^ 

J'ai  froiclj"  he  finds  m,eans  of  expressing  at  once 
the  shudder  of  sou!,  and  the  devouring  ardour  which 
he  endeavours  to  hide. 

Many  faults  may  be  found  in  the  plays  of  Shakspeare 
adapted  to  our  theatre  by  Ducis  ;  but  it  v/ould  be  great 
injustice  to  deny  them  beaulies  cf  the  fust  order;  the 
genius  of  Ducis  is  in  his  heart,  and  it  is  there  that  he 
is  great.  Talma  performs  his  characters  like  a  friend 
to  the  talent  of  this  noble  old  man.  The  scene  of  the 
witches,  in  Macbeth,  is  changed  into  recitation  on  the 
French  stage.    Tahr.a  should  be  seen  endeavouring  to 


OF  DSCLAMAtlO^r 


render  something  vulgar  and  uncouth  in  the  accent 
of  the  witches,  and  to  preserve,  at  the  same  time,  all 
the  dignity  exacted  by  our  theatre. 

Piir  des  mots  inconnus,  ces  etres  monstrueux 
S'iipiJeloient  tour  a  tour,  s'applaudiSsOient  entre  eux, 
S'approchoient,  me  montrolent  avec  un  r.s  farouche; 
Leur  doig-t  mysterleux  r,e  posoit  sur  leur  bouche. 
Je  leur  parle/et  dans  i'ombre  ils  s'echappent  soudain, 
L'uu  avec  un  poignard,  1' autre  un  sceptre  a.  la  mam  i 
L' autre  d'un  long  serpent  serroit  le  corps  Uvide ; 
Tou3  trois  vers  ce  palais  ont  pris  un  vol  rapide,^ 
Et  tous  trois  dans  les  airs,  en  fuyan;  loin  de  moi^ 
M'ont  laisse  pour  adieu  ces  mots  ;  Tu  seras  roi. 

*rhe  low  and  mysterious  voice  of  the  actor  in  pronoun- 
cing these  verses,  the  manner  in  which  he  piaced  his 
finger  on  his  mouth,  like  the  statue  of  silence,  his 
look,  which  altered  to  express  a  horrible  and  repulsive 
recollection;  all  were  combined  to  paint  a  species  of 
tlie  marvellous  new  to  our  theatre,  and  of  v»'hich  no  for- 
mer tradition  could  give  any  idea. 

Othello  has  not  latterly  succeeded  on  the  French 
stage  ;  it  seems  as  if  Orosmane  prevented  our  rightly 
understanding  Othello  ;  but  when  Talma  performs  thi^ 
part,  the  fifth  act  occasions  as  strong  an  emotion  as  if 
the  assasshiation  actually  passed  before  our  eyes  ;  I 
have  seen  Talma,  in  private  company,  declaim  the 
last  scene  with  his  wife,  whose  voice  and  figure  are  sq 
"well  suited  to  Desdemona;  it  was  enough  for  him  to 
pass  his  hand  over  his  hair,  and  knit  his  brow,  in  or- 
der to  become  the  Moor  of  Venice,  and  terror  occu- 
pied all  at  th  ;  distance  ©f  two  paces  from  him,  as  if 
all  tlie  illusions  of  the  theatre  had  encompassed  hirn. 

Hamlet  is  his  glory  among  the  tragedies  of  foreign 
style  ;  the  spectators  do  not  see  the  ghost  of  Hamltt'^ 
father  on  the  French  stage,  the  apparition  passes  only  in 
the  physiognomy  of  Talma,  audit  is  certainly  notat  alji 
tiie  less  terrifying.  When,  in  the  midst  oi  a  calm  ancjl 
melancholy  c  nversation,  he  all  at  once  perceives  the 
spectre,  all  his  motions  are  foUo\Yed  hi  the  eyet>  tto 

YOL.  II,  E  ^ 


0F  LITERATURE  ANB  THE  ARTS. 


contemplate  him,  and  we  cannot  doubt  the  presence  cf 
the  phantom  attested  by  such  a  look. 

When  Hamlet  enters  alone  in  the  third  act,  and  re- 
cites in  fine  French  verses  the  famous  soliloquy.  To  bt 
or  not  to  bcy 

La  mort,  c'est  le  sonameil,  c'est  un  reveil  peiit-etre^ 
Peut-etre. — Ah  !  c'est  le  mot  qui  g-lace,  epouvtmle, 
L'homnie,  au  bord  du  cercueil,  par  le  doute  arrete  ; 
Devant  ce  vaste  abime  il  se  jette  en  arriere, 
Kessaisti  I'esistenee,  et  s'attaclie  a  la  terre  ; 

Talma  used  no  gesture,  he  only  sometimes  shook  his 
head  as  if  to  question  earth  and  heaven  respecting  the 
nature  of  death.  Without  motion,  the  dignity  of  med- 
itation absorbed  all  his  being.  He  \vas  one  man,  among 
two  thousand  silent  spectators,  interrogating  thought 
concerning  the  destiny  of  mortals  1  In  a  few  years  ail 
that  was  there  will  exist  no  longer  ;  but  others  will 
assist  in  their  turn  at  the  same  imcertainties,  and  will 
plunge,  in  like  manner,  into  the  abyss  without  know-- 
ing  its  depth. 

When  Hamlet  wishes  to  make  his  mother  swear,  on 
the  urn  that  encloses  the  ashes  of  her  husband,  that 
she  had  no  part  in  the  crime  w  .ich  caused  his  destruc- 
tion, she  hesitates,  is  troubled,  and  ends  by  confessing 
her  guilt".  Then  Hamlei  draws  the  dagger  which  his 
father  commands  him  to  plunge  into  the  maternal 
bosom  ;  but  at  the  moment  when  he  is  about  to  striker- 
tenderness  and  compassion  overcome  him,  and,  turn- 
ing back  towards  the  shade  of  his  father,  he  exclaims, 
Grace,  grace,  mon  fiere  I  with  an  accent  in  Avhich  all 
the  emotions  of  nature  seem  at  once  to  escape  from 
the  heart,  and  throwing  himself  at  the  feet  of  his 
mother,  who  has  swooned  away,  he  speaks  to  her 
these  two  lines  which  contain  a  sentiment  of  inexhaust- 
ible pity, 

Yotre  crime  est  horrible,  execrable,  odienx, 
Mais  il  n'est  pas  plus  grand  que  la  bonte  des  cieu^s- 


0F  DECLA^-IATIOX; 


55 


To  conclude,  it  is  impossible  to  think  of  Talma 
without  recollecting  Manlius.  This  juece  produced 
little  effect  on  the  stae^e  :  it  is  the  subject  of  Otway's 
Venice  Preserved,  applied  to  an  event  of  Roman  His- 
tory. Manlius  conspires  against  the  senate  of  Romcj 
he  confides  his  secret  to  Servilius,  whom  he  has  loved 
for  fifteen  years  :  he  confides  it  to  him  in  spite  of  the 
suspicions  of  his  other  friends,  who  distrust  the  weak- 
ness of  Servilius,  and  his  iove  for  his  v.ife,  the  con- 
sul's daughter.  What  the  conspirators  feared  actually 
takes  place.  Servilius  is  unable  to  hide  from  his  wife 
the  danger  to  which  her  father's  life  is  exposed  :  she 
immediately  runs  to  reveal  it  to  him.  Pvlanlius  is  ar- 
rested, projects  discovered,  and  the  senate  condemns, 
him  to  be  thrown  headlong  from  the  Tarpeian  hill. 

Before  Talma,  people  had  scarcely  discovered  in  this 
piece,  which  is  feebly  written,  the  passion  of  friend- 
ship wi-.ich  Manlius  experiences  for  Servilius.  When 
a  i.ote  of  the  conspirator  Rutiiius,  gives  to  understand 
tiiat  the  secret  is  betrayed,  and  betrayed  by  Servilius, 
Manlius  enters  with  this  note  in  his  hand  ;  he  draws 
nigh  to  his  guilty  friend,  already  devoured  by  remorse, 
and  siievvinghim  the  lines  which  accuse  him,  pronounces 
these  wo'^ds,  Q//.-^7z  dis-lu  ?  I  ask  all  who  have  heard 
them,  can  the  countenance  and  the  tone  of  tiie  voice 
ever  express,  at  one  time,  so  many  different  impres- 
sions ;  that  rage,  softened  by  an  inward  feeling  of  pity^ 
that  indignation,  rendered  by  friendship  alternately 
more  lively  and  more  feeble,  how  make  them  under- 
stood if  not  by  tiiat  accent  which  passes  from  soul  to 
soul,  witfiout  the  internsediatv  office  ev  en  of  words  ! 
Manlius  draws  his  dagger  to  strike  Servilius  with  it, 
his  i:iand  seeks  his  heart,  and  trembles  lest  it  should 
fiiid  it :  the  remembrance  of  so  many  years,  during' 
which  Servilius  was  dear  to  him,  raises  as  it  v/ere  a 
eloud  of  tears  between  his  revenge  and  his  friend. 

The  fifth  act  has  been  less  spoken  of,  and  Talma  is 
perhaps  still  more  admirable  in  that  than  in  the  fourth. 
Servilius  has  encountered  all  hi^zards  to  expiate  his 
fault,  and  preserve  Manlius.  At  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  he  has  resolved,  if  his  friend  should  perish,  to 


M  UTRRATUFvE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


take  his  lot.  The  grief  of  Manlius  is  softened  by  the 
regret  of  Servilius  ;  nevertheless  he  dares  not  tell 
him  that  he  forgives  his  frightful  treason  ;  but  he  lakes 
the  hand  of  Servilius  in  private,  and  presses  it  to  his- 
hcart  !  his  involuntary  motions  seek  the  guilty  friend, 
v/hom  he  wishes  to  embrace  once  more  before  he  parts 
from  him  for  ever.  Nothing,  or  scarcely  any  thing  in 
the  play  itself,  pointed  out  this  admirable  beauty  of  a 
feeling  soul  still  paying  respect  to  ancient  affection,  in 
spite  of  the  treason  that  has  b.'oken  it.  The  parts  of 
Pierie  and  Jaffier  in  the  English  play  indicate  this  situ- 
ation very  forcibly.  Taima  has  found  means  of  giving 
to  the  tragedy  of  Manlius  the  energy  it  wants,  and 
nothing  d  es  so  much  honour  to  his  talent,  as  the  truth 
with  which  he  expresses  the  invincibility  of  friendship* 
Passion  may  hate  the  oi^ject  of  its  love  but  when  the 
tie  is  formed  by  the  sacred  relations  of  the  soul,  it 
seems  that  crime  itself  is  incapable  of  destroying  it, 
and  that  we  look  lor  remorse  just  as,  after  a  long  ab- 
sence, v;e  should  look  for  the  return. 

In  speaking  somewhat  in  detai*  about  Talma,  I  do 
not  consider  myself  as  having  rested  on  a  subject  for- 
eign to  that  of  my  work.  This  artist  gives  as  much  as 
possible  to  French  tragedy  of  what,  either  justly  or  ur- 
justly,  the  Germans  accuse  it  of  wanting:  originaiity 
and  nature.  He  knows  how  to  characterize  foreign 
manners  in  the  different  parts  he  represents,  and  no 
actor  more  frequently  hazards  great  effects  by  simjDle 
expedients.  In  his  mode  of  declaiming,  he  has  artifi- 
eialiy  combined  Shakspeare  and  Racine  togeiher.  Why 
shuuid  not  dramatic  writers  endeavour  also  to  unite  in 
their  compositions  what  t!ie  actor  has  been  able  to 
amalgamate  so  happily  in  his  performance  I 


OF  NOTSI^. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 
Of  A^ovcis, 


f^F  all  fictions,  novels  bein^  the  inost  easy,  there 
is  no  career  in  which  the  writers  of  i^iodern  nations 
have  more  generaily  essayed  themselves  The  novel 
Constitutes  what  may  be  called  the  transition  between 
real  and  imaginary  existence.  The  history  of  every 
individual  is,  with  s-nyie  modifications,  a  novel  suffi- 
ciently similar  to  those  which  are  printed,  and  person- 
al recollections  often,  in  this  respect,  take  place  of 
invention.  It  has  been  attempted  to  give  more  im- 
portance to  this  species  of  compositions,  by  mixing 
■with  it  poetry,  Instory,  and  philosophy  ;  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  this  is  to  alter  its  nature.  Moral  refiec- 
ticras,  and  em  passioned  eloquence,  may  find  room  in 
novels  ;  but  the  interest  of  situations  ought  always  to 
be  the  first  principle  of  action  in  this  sort  of  writings, 
and  nothiiig  can  ever  properly  supply  its  place.  If 
theat -  icai  effect  is  the  indispensable  c  ndition  for  all 
pieces  for  representation,  it  is  equally  true  that  a  nov- 
el can  be  neither  a  good  work,  nor  a  happy  fiction, 
Hi  less  it  inspires  a  lively  curiosity;  it  is  in  vain  that 
we  would  supply  the  want  of  this  oy  ingenious  digres- 
siofis,  the  expectation  of  amusement  frustrated,  Vr^ould 
cause  an  insurm.ountabie  fatigue. 

The  multitude  of  love  taiCs  published  in  Germany 
has  somewhat  turned  into  ridicule  the  light  of  the 
moo;i,  tne  harps  that  resound  at  evening  through  the 
valley,  in  short  all  known  and  approved  metnods  oS" 
softly  soothing  the  soul ;  and  yet  we  are  endued  with  a 
natural  disposition  that  delights  itself  in  these  easy 
sorts  of  reafiing,  and  it  is  the  part  of  genius  to  take 
hold  of  a  disposition  which  it  would  be  in  vain  to  think, 


•5S        OF  LTTEEATTJRE  AND  THE  ARtSi 


of  corabating.  It  is  so  sweet  to  love  and  to  be  lo'^- 
€d,  that  this  hymn  of  life  is  susceptible  of  irifinite 
modulation,  without  the  heart  experier.cing  any  lassi- 
tude ;  thus  we  return  with  pleasure  to  t!ic  first  meio-' 
dy  of  a  song  en\beilished  by  brilliajit  variations.  I 
shall  not  however  dissemble  that  novels,  even  those 
"which  are  most  pure,  do  mischief;  they  have  too  well 
discovered  to  us  the  most  secret  recesses  of  senti- 
ment. Nothing  can  be  experienced  that  we  do  not 
remember  to  have  read  before,  and  all  t'ne  veils  of  the 
heart  have  been  rent.  The  ancients  would  never  thus 
have  made  of  the  human  soui  a  subject  of  fiction  ;  it 
remained  a  sanctuary  for  them,  into  which  their  own 
looks  would  have  feared  to  penetrate  ;  but  in  fine,  if 
the  ciass  of  novels  is  once  admitted,  there  nuist  be  in- 
terest hi  it ;  and  it  is,  as  Cicero  said  of  action  in  hig 
Orator,  the  conditien  trebly  necessary. 

The  Germans,  like  the  Englisii,  are  very  fertile  in 
iiovels  descriptive  of  domestic  life.  The  delineation 
of  manners  is  more  elegant  in  the  English,  but  more 
diversified  in  the  German.  There  is  in  England,  not-r 
withstandiiig  the  independence  of  characters,  a  gener- 
ality of  manner  h)spired  by  good  company;  in  Ger* 
many  nothing  of  this  sort  is  matter  of  convei^itioii. 
Many  of  these  novels,  founded  on  our  sentiments  and 
manners,  wii  ch  hold  among  books  the  rank  of  dramas 
in  the  theatre,  deserve  to  be  cited;  but  that  which  is 
Tvithcut  equal  and  without  parallel  is  Werter  :  there 
VJQ  heboid  ail  that  the  genius  of  Goethe  was  capable 
of  producing  when  em  passioned.  It  is  said  that  he 
now  attaciies  little  value  to  this  work  of  his  youth  ; 
the  effervescence  of  imagination,  v*?hich  inspired  him 
almost  v^ith  enthusiasm  for  suicide,  may  now  appear 
to  him  deserving  of  censure.  In  youth,  the  degrada- 
tion of  existence  not  having  yet  any  commencement, 
the  tomb  appears  only  a  poetical  image,  a  sleep  sur- 
rounded with  figures  weeping  for  us  on  their  knees  ; 
it  is  no  longer  the  same  in  middle  hfe,  and  we  then 
learn  why  religion,  that  science  of  the  soul,  haS; 
mingled  the  horror  of  murder  with  the  attempt  u^oii 
©ne'ji  own  existence,. 


Nevertheless,  Goeihe  would  be  much  in  the  wrong 
j6id  he  despise  the  admirable  talent  thai  is  discoverable 
an  VVerter  :  it  is  not  oniy  the  sufferings  of  love,  but 
the  maladies  of  the  imagination,  so  prevalent  in  our 
times,  of  which  he  has  painted  the  picture  :  tiiose 
tiioughts  that  press  into  the  mind,  without  our  being 
able  to  change  them  mto  acts  of  the  will  ;  the  singular 
contrast  of  a  life  much  more  monotonous  than  that 
of  the  ancients,  and  of  an  internal  existence  much  mr  re 
tumultuous,  cause  a  sort  of  dizzmtss  like  th.at  wi^ich 
we  experience  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  when  ri;e 
v-ery  fatigue  of  long  coritemplating  the  abyss  below 
may  urge  us  to  throw  ourselves  headlong.  Goethe 
has  been  able  to  join  to  this  picture  of  the  inquieluries 
of  the  soul,  so  piiilosophicai  in  its  results,  a  ficjion, 
s-imple,  but  of  prodigious  interest.  Ii  it  has  been 
thought  necessary  in  all  the  sciences  to  strike  the 
eyes  by  outward  images,  is  it  not  natural  to  interest 
the  heart,  in  order  to  impress  it  with  grand  senti- 
inents  i 

Novels,  in  letters,  always  suppose  more  of  seiiti* 
ment  than  of  fact  ;  the  ancients  would  never  have 
thought  of  giving  this  form  to  their  fictions;  audit  is 
only  for  two  centuries  past  that  philosophy  has  been 
sufficientiy  introduced  into  ourselves,  to  enable  the 
analysis  of  our  feeiihgs  to  liold  so  great  a  place  in  our 
books.  This  manner  of  conceiviiig  novels  is  certainly 
not  so  poetical  as  that  which  consists  entirely  in  reci- 
taiion ;  but  the  human  ::iind  is  now  much  less  dispc- 
sed  to  be  gratified  by  events  even  the  best  combined, 
than  by  observations  on  what  passes  within  the  i:eart. 
Tills  disp  osition  is  the  consequence  of  those  great  in- 
tellectual changes  thut  nave  taken  place  in  man  :  he  has 
in  general  a  much  greater  tendency  to  fail  back  upon 
himself,  and  to  seek  religion,  iove,  and  sentiment,  in 
the  most  inward  recesses  rif  his  being. 

Many  German  writers  have  composed  tales  of 
ghosts  and  v/ilches,  and  think  that  tiiere  is  more  of 
genius  in  these  inventions,  than  in  a  romance  fouriued 
on  uie  circumstances  of  ordinary  life  :  it  is  very  weli 
ibr  those  who  are  led  to  it  by  natural  inciinalioii ;  but 


69 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  TEE  AETS. 


in  general  verse  is  necessary  for  the  marvellous,  prose 
is  inadequate  to  it.  When  ages  and  countries,  very 
different  from  those  we  live  in,  are  represented  in  fic- 
tion, the  charnn  of  poetry  must  apply  the  want  of  thai 
pleasure  which  the  resemblance  to  ourselves  would 
make  us  experience.  Poetry  is  the  winged  mediator 
that  transports  times  past  and  foreign  nations  into  a 
sublime  region,  where  admiration  fills  the  place  of 
•sympathy. 

Romances  of  chivalry  abound  in  Germany  ;  but  tliey 
should  have  been  more  scrupulous  in  fastening  them 
upon  ancient  traditions  :  at  present,  they  take  the  trou- 
ble of  investigathig  these  preci  ns  sources;  and  in  a 
book  called  "  The  Book  of  Heroes,"  they  have  found 
a  number  of  adventures  related  v^'ith  force  and  naivete  ; 
it  is  of  importance  to  preserve  the  colour  of  tnis  an- 
cient style  and  of  these  ancient  manners,  and  not  to 
prolong,  by  the  analysis  of  sentiments,  the  recitals  of 
times  i'j  which  honour  and  love  acted  on  the  heart  of 
man,  like  the  fatality  of  ti>.e  ancierts,  wirhout  their 
rellecting  on  the  motives  of  actions,  or  admiiting  any 
uiicertanity  into  '"heir  operations. 

Phiiosophicai  romance  has,  for  some  time  past,  taken 
Ihe  lead,  in  Germany,  of  all  other  sorts  ;  it  does  not 
resemble  that  of  the  French  ;  it  is  not,  like  Voltaire  's, 
a  g-enerai  idea  expressed  by  a  fact  in  form  of  apologue, 
but  it  is  a  picture  of  human  life  altogether  impartial,  a 
picture  in  which  no  empassioi.ed  interest  predonii- 
irates  ;  different  situations  succeed  eacli  other  in  all 
rar.ks,  in  all  conditions,  in  ail  circumstances;  and  the 
%vriter  is  present  to  relate  them.  It  is  upon  these 
principles  that  Goethe  has  conceived  his  IViihclm 
Meister^  a  work  greatly  admired  in  Gernia:.y,  but  little 
known  elsewhere. 

Wilhelm  Mcister  is  full  of  ingenious  and  lively  dis- 
cu^ibions  ;  it  would  make  a  philosopliical  work  oftiie 
first  order,  if  the  intrigue  of  a  novel  were  i  ot  intro- 
duced into  it,  the  interest  of  which  is  r.ot  worth  what 
is  sacrificed  to  it;  we  find  in  it  very  dtiicaie  arid  nii- 
nutt  pic  tures  ol  a  certain  cjass  society,  more  uu- 
iiierous  in  Germany  thai:i  ii\  other  countries  j  a  CAass 


m  NOVELS. 


61 


.irt  which  artists,  players,  and  adventurers,  inix  with 
those  of  the  bourgeois  who  love  an  independent  life, 
and  with  those  of  the  nobility  who  esteem  themselves 
the  protectors  of  the  arts  ;  every  picture,  taken  sepa- 
rately, is  charming  ;  but  there  is  no  other  interest  in 
the  tout-ensemble  but  what  v/e  may  feel  in  knowing- 
the  opinion  of  Goethe  on  every  subject ;  the  hero  of 
his  novel  is  an  intruding  third  person  whom  he  has 
placed,  we  know  not  why,  between  himself  and  his 
reader. 

Amidst  all  these  personages  in  Wilhelm  Meipter, 
more  intelligent  than  important,  and  these  situations 
so  much  more  natural  than  prominent,  a  charming 
episode  is  scattered  through  many  parts  of  the  work  in 
Avhich  is  united  all  that  the  warmth  and  originality  of 
geiiius  of  Goethe  is  capable  of  producing  of  most 
animated.  A  young  Italian  girl  is  the  child  of  love, 
and  of  a  criminal  and  frightful  love,  which  has  taken 
hold  of  a  man  consecrated  by  oath  to  the  worship  of 
the  divinity  ;  the  lovers,  already  so  culpable,  discover 
after  their  marriage  that  they  are  brother  and  sister, 
and  that  incest  has  been  rendered  for  them  the  pun- 
ishment of  perjury.  The  m.other  loses  her  reason, 
and  the  father  runs  over  the  world  like  an  iinhappy 
wanderer  who  refuses  any  shelter.  The  miserable 
•fruit  of  this  fatal  love,  without  support  from  its  birth, 
-is  carried  away  by  a  troop  of  rope-dancers  ;  they  ex- 
ercise it  to  the  age  of  ten  years,  in  the  wretched  play 
which  constitutes  their  own  subsistence ;  the  cruel 
treatment  they  rnake  it  undergo  excites  the  interest  of 
Wilhelm,  and  he  takes  into  his  service  this  young  -^i"!? 
in  the  dress  of  a  boy  which  she  has  worn  ever  since 
her  birth. 

There  is  developed  in  this  extraordinary  creature, 
a  singular  mixture  of  childishness  and  depth  of  un- 
derstanding, of  seriousness  and  imagination  ;  ardent 
like  the  women  of  Italy,  silent  and  persevering  like  a 
person  of  reflection,  speech  does  not  seem  to  be  her 
natural  language.  The  few  words  she  utters,  how- 
ever, are  soiemn,  and  answerable  to  sentiments  much 
stronger  than  those  natural  to  her  age,  and  of  which 

TOL.  II.  F 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS, 


she  does  not  herself  possess  the  secret.  She  become^ 
attached  to  Wiihelm  with  love  and  reverence  ;  she 
serves  him  as  a  faithful  domestic,  she  loves  him  as  an 
cmpassioned  wife  :  her  life  having  been  always  un- 
happy, it  seems  as  if  she  had  never  knov/n  childhood, 
and  as  if  having  been  doomed  to  suffering  in  an  age 
■which  nature  has  destined  only  for  enjoyments,  she 
existed  oniy  for  one  solitary  affection  with  which  the 
beatings  of  her  heart  begin  and  end. 

The  character  of  Mignon  (this  is  the  young  girl's 
name)  is  mysterious  like  a  dream  ;  she  expresses  her 
regret  of  Italy  in  some  enchanting  verses  v/hich  all 
people  know  by  heart  in  Germany  :  "  Dost  thou  know 

the  land  where  citron-trees  flourish  r"  &c.  In  the 
end,  jealousy,  that  passion  too  strong  for  so  tender 
organs,  breaks  the  heart  of  the  poor  girl,  who  be- 
comes a  prey  to  grief  before  age  has  given  her  strength 
to  iitruggie  against  it. 

To  comprehend  all  the  effect  of  this  admirable 
picture,  it  would  be  necessary  to  enter  into  ah  the  de- 
tails of  it.  We  cannot  represent  to  oui  seives  with- 
out emotion  the  least  of  the  feelings  that  agitate 
this  young  girl ;  there  is  in  her  I  know  not  what  of 
magic  simplicity,  that  supposes  a  profundity  of  thought 
and  feeling  ;  we  think  v.'e  hear  the  tempest  moaning 
at  the  bottom  of  her  soul,  even  while  we  are  unable 
to  fix  upon  a  word  or  a  circumstance  to  account  for 
the  hiexpressibie  uneasiness  slie  makes  us  feeh 

Notwithstan,ding  tins  beautiful  episode,  we  perceive 
in  Wiihelm  Meister  the  singular  systeiii  that  has  de- 
veloped itself  of  late  in  the  German  school  :  the  re^ 
citais  of  the  ancients,  even  their  poems,  however  in- 
ternally animated,  are  calm  in  appearance  ;  and  we 
are  persuaded  that  the  moderns  would  do  well  to  im- 
itate the  tranquility  of  the  anciL^nt  authors;  but  in  re- 
spect of  imaguiatiijn,  what  is  not  prescribed  hi  theory 
seiCiom  succeeds  in  practice.  Everts  like  those  of  tnc 
liiad  mterest  of  tnemselves,  and  the  less  theauthoi's 
own  sentiments  are  brought  forward,  tne  greater  is 
the  nupression  made  by  me  picture  ;  but  if  we  set 
ourselves  to  describe  romantic  situations  with  the  im- 


OP  NOVELS. 


63 


partial  calmness  of  Homer,  the  result  could  hardly 
be  very  alluring. 

Goethe  has  just  produced  a  novel  called  The  Affin- 
ities of  Choice^  which  is  extremely  obnoxious  to  the 
censure  I  have  been  remarkini^.  A  happy  family  has 
retired  into  the  country  ;  the  husband  and  wife  invite, 
the  one  his  friend,  the  other  her  niece,  to  partake 
their  solitude  ;  the  friend  falls  in  love  with  the  v/ife, 
and  the  husband  with  the  young  girl,  her  niece.  He 
abandons  himself  to  the  idea  of  recurring  to  a  divorce 
in  order  to  procure  an  union  with  the  object  of  his  at- 
tachment; the  young  girl  is  ready  to  consent:  unfor- 
tunate events  happen  to  bring  her  back  to  the  feeling 
of  duty  ;  but  as  soon  as  she  is  brought  to  acknowledge 
the  necessity  of  sacrificing  her  love,  she  dies  of  grief, 
and  her  lover  shortly  follows  her. 

The  translation  of  the  Affiniries  of  Choice  has  not 
met  with  success  in  France,  because  there  is  nothing 
characteristic  in  the  general  effjct  of  the  fable,  and  it 
is  difficult  to  comprehend  with  vvhat  view  it  was  con- 
ceived ;  this  uncertainty  is  not  a  matter  for  censure  in 
Germany  ;  as  the  events  of  this  world  often  furnish 
only  undecided  results,  people  are  satisfied  to  find  in 
novels  which  pretend  to  describe  them  the  same  con- 
tradictions and  the  same  doubts.  Goethe's  vvork  con- 
tains a  liuiuber  of  refined  sentiments  and  observations  ; 
but  it  is  true  that  the  interest  often  languishes,  and 
tliat  we  find  almost  as  many  vacancies  in  the  novel  as 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  human  life.  A  novel,  how- 
ever, ought  not  10  resemble  the  memoirs  of  individ- 
uals; for  every  thing  is  a  matter  of  interest  in  what 
hue  really  existed,  wiiile  fiction  can  only  equal  the  ef- 
feci  of  trutn  by  surpassing  it,  that  is  to  say,  by  pos- 
sessing greater  strength,  more  unity,  and  more  ac- 
tion. 

The  description  of  the  Baron's  garden  and  the  em- 
bellishments made  in  it  by  the  Baroness,  absoi  bs  more 
than  a  third  part  of  the  whole  story ;  and  it  does  not 
dispose  the  reader  to  be  moved  by  a  tragic  catastro- 
phe :  the  d.  ath  of  the  liero  and  heroine  seems  no  more 
than  a  fortuitous  accident?  from  the  heart  not  being 


64 


OF  LiTERATimF  ANB  TKE  AKTO 


long  beforehand  prepared  to  feel  and  to  partake  the 
pain  they  siifTer.  This  work  affards  a  sin8:ular  mix- 
ture of  a  life  of  convenience  with  stormy  passions; 
an  imagination  full  of  grace  and  strength  draws  near 
to  the  production  '>f  grand  effects  to  let  them  eo  all 
cf  a  sudden,  as  if  it  were  not  worth  the  pain  to  bring 
them  forth  ;  one  would  say  that  the  author  has  been 
injured  by  his  own  emotion,  and  that  by  mere  cowar- 
dice of  heart  he  lays  aside  the  one-haif  of  his  talent 
for  fear  of  making  himself  suffer  in  trying  to  move 
■liis  readers. 

A  more  important  question  is,  v/hether  such  a  work 
5s  morai,  that  is,  whether  the  impression  derived  from 
it  is  favourable  to  the  improvement  of  the  soul :  the 
mere  events  of  a  fiction  have  nothing  to  do  with  this 
question  ;  w^e  so  well  know  their  dependence  on  the 
•\viii  of  the  author,  that  they  can  awaken  the  conscience 
of  no  man  ;  the  morality  of  a  novel  consists  therefore 
in  the  sentiments  it  inspires.  It  cannot  be  denied  that 
there  is  in  Goethe's  book  a  profound  knowledge  of  the 
liuman  heart,  but  it  is  a  discourapjng  knowledge  ;  it 
.represents  life  as  at  best  very  indifferent  in  whatever 
jnanner  it  passes;  when  probed  to  the  bottom,  sad 
and  mournful,  only  tolerably  agreeable  wdien  slightly 
bkimmed  over,  liable  to  moral  diseases  v/hich  must  be 
cured  if  possible,  and  must  kill  if  they  cannot  be  cu^ 
red.  The  passions  exist,  the  virtues  also  exist ;  there 
are  some  who  assure  us  that  the  first  must  be  counter- 
^acted  by  the  second  ;  others  pretend  that  this  cannot  be  ; 
■see  and  judge,  says  tl\e  v/riter  v/ho  sums  up  w^ith  im- 
partiality the  arguments  which  fate  may  furnish  for  an.^t 
iigainst  each  method  of  viev/ing  the  subject. 

It  would  be  v/rong  to  im.agine,  however,  that  this 
scepticism  v/as  inspired  by  the  materializingi;  tendency 
uf  the  eighteenth  century ;  the  opinions  of  Goethe  are 
much  more  profound,  but  they  do  not  present  any 
greater  consolation  to  the  soul.  His  writings  offer  to 
us  a  contemptuous  philosophy  that  says  to  good  as 
well  as  to  evil  :  It  ought  to  be  so  bectuise  it  is  so  ;  a 
wonderful  imagination,  which  rules  over  all  the  other. 
facnJtiesj  and  grows  tiie€l  of  genius  itself  as  having  iti 


or  X0VELS: 


65 


ft  somethinf>'  too  involuntary  and  too  partial ;  to  con- 
clude, what  is  most  of  all  defective  in  this  romance  is 
a  firm  and  positive  feeling  of  religion  ;  the  principal 
personages  are  more  accessible  to  superstiton  than  to 
faith  ;  and  we  perceive  that  in  their  hearts,  religion, 
like  love,  is  only  the  effect  of  circumstances,  and  lia-- 
ble  to  vary  with  them. 

In  the  progress  of  this  work,  the  author  displays 
too  much  uncertainty;  the  forms  he  draws  and  the 
opinions  he  indicates  leave  only  doubtful  recollections  ; 
it  must  be  agreed  that  to  think  a  great  deal  sometimes 
leads  to  the  total  unsettling  of  our  fundamental  ideas ; 
but  a  man  of  genius  like  Goethe  should  serve  as  a 
guide  to  his  adniirers  in  an  ascertained  road.  It  is  no 
longer  time  to  doubt,  it  is  no  longer  time  to  place,  on 
every  possible  subject,  ingenious  ideas  in  each  scale 
of  the  balance  ;  we  should  now  abandon  ourselves  to 
confidence,  to  enthusiasm,  to  the  admiration  w^hich 
the  imm.ortal  youth  of  the  soul  may  alv/ays  keep  alive 
vrithin  us ;  this  youth  springs  forth  again  out  of  the 
very  ashes  of  the  passions:  it  is  the  golden  bough 
that  can  never  fade,  and  v/hich  gives  entrance  to  Sibyl 
intf)  the  Elysian  fields. 

Tieck  deserves  to  be  mentioned  in  many  different 
styles  of  composition  ;  he  is  the  author  of  a  novel  cal- 
led Sternbald,  whicn  must  be  read  with  g-reat  delight  5- 
the  events  are  but  few,  and  even  tlmse  few  are  not 
conducted  to  the  denoaemei-.t ;  but  we  can  no  where 
else,  I  believe,  meet  v/ith  so  pleasing  a  picture  of  the 
life  of  an  aitist ;  the  auti-or  places  his  hero  in  the  fiae 
age  of  the  arts,  and  supposes  him  to  be  a  scholar  of 
Albert  Durer,  the  contemporary  of  Raphael.  He 
makes  him  travel  in  diaerent  countries  of  i.urope,  and 
paints  with  the  charm  of  novelty  the  pleasure  tiiat 
must  be  caused  by  external  objects  when  we  beloiig  to 
no  country  and  no  station  exclusively,  but  are  at  liber- 
ty to  range  through  all  nature  in  search  of  inspiraiion 
and  example.  Tnis  state  of  existcrice,  wanderhig  and 
at  the  same  tim^  contempiat've  is  tlioroughly  lu.der- 
stood  no  where  but  in  Germany.  Iri  Frriicn  lomavices 
-^ve  always  describe  social  maiiiiers  aiiU  ^ue  inteixourije 


66  OF  LITERATURE  ANB  THE  ARTS' 


of  society  ;  yet  there  is  a  great  secret  of  enjoyment  m 
this  sort  of  imat^ination,  which  seems  to  hover  over 
the  earth  while  it  traverses,  and  mixes  not  at  all  in  the 
active  interests  of  the  world. 

Unhappy  m.ortals  hardly  ever  receive  from  fate  the 
blessing  a  destiny  in  which  the  events  succeed  each 
otbc'-  in  the  regular  concatenation  they  wish  for  ;  but 
insvjated  impressions  are  for  the  most  part  sufficiently 
gentie,  and  the  present,  v/hen  it  can  be  contemplated 
apart  from  recollections  and  apprehensions,  is  still  the 
happiest  moment  of  life.  There  is  a  sort  of  poetical 
philosophy,  then,  of  great  wisdom  in  those  instanta- 
iieous  enjoyments  which  compose  the  artist's  exist- 
ence ;  the  new  points  of  viev/,  the  accidents  of  light 
■which  embellishes  them,  are  for  him  so  many  events 
that  have  their  beginning  and  ending  in  the  same  day, 
and  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  past  or  the  future; 
the  affections  of  the  heart  unveil  the  face  of  nature, 
and  we  are  astonished,  in  reading  Tieck's  novel,  by 
all  the  wonders  that  surround  us  without  our  perceiv- 
ing it. 

The  author  has  mingled  in  his  work  several  detach- 
ed pieces  of  poetry,  some  of  Vvdiich  are  extremely  fi;:e. 
When  verses  are  introduced  into  a  French  novel,  they 
almost  always  interrupt  the  interest,  and  destroy  the 
harmony  of  the  whole.  It  is  not  so  in  Sternbald ;  tne 
story  is  so  poetical  in  itself,  that  the  prose  seems  like 
a  recitative  which  follows  the  verse,  or  prepares  the 
way  for  it.  Among  others,  there  are  some  stanzas  on 
the  spiing,  as  enchanting  as  nature  herself  at  that  sea- 
son. Infancy  is  represertcd  in  them  under  a  thoiisand 
different  shapes  :  man,  the  plants,  the  earth,  the  hea- 
ven, ail  things  there  are  so  young,  all  things  so  rich 
in  hope,  that  the  poet  appeai  s  to  be  celebrating  the 
ii/ sr  fine  days,  and  the  hrsL  flowers,  that  ever  attired 
tlie  world. 

We  have,  in  French,  several  comic  romances,  and 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  is  Gil  Bias.  I  do  not  thiiik 
any  work  can  be  mentioned  among  the  Gcrmans,^  in 
W'iiicii  the  affairs  of  lif(;  are  so  agreeably  sported  wiih. 
Tne  Germaiis  have  hardly  yet  attained  a  real  world; 


OF  NO^'ELS. 


67 


Jiow  can  they  be  supposed  capable  already  of  laiig-hing' 
at  it  ?  Th-^t  serious  kind  of  e:aiety  whicii  turns  nothing- 
into  ridicule,  but  amuses  without  intending  it,  and 
makes  others  lau^h  without  lauQ;hing  itself ;  that  gaie- 
ty, which  the  English  call  humcur^  is  to  be  found  also 
in  many  of  the  German  writers  ;  but  it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  translate  them.  When  the  pleasant  17  con- 
sists in  a  ohilosophical  sentiment  happily  expressed, 
as  in  Swift's  Gulliver,  the  change  of  language  is  of 
110  importance  ;  but  Sterne's  Tristram  Shandy  loses 
almost  all  its  beauty  in  French.  Pleasantries,  which 
consist  in  the  forms  of  language,  speak  to  the  mind  a 
thousand  times  more,  perhaps,  than  ideas  ;  and  yet 
these  impressions  so  lively,  excited  by  shades  of  re- 
finement so  subtle,  are  incapable  of  being  transmitted 
to  foreigners. 

Claudius  is  one  of  the  German  authors  who  have 
most  of  tliat  national  gaiety,  the  exclusive  property  of 
every  foreign  literature.  He  has  published  a  collection 
of  various  detached  pieces  on  different  cubjects  ;  some 
are  in  bad  taste,  others  unimportant,  but  there  reigns 
in  all  of  them  an  oviginality  and  a  truth  which  render 
the  least  things  attractive.  This  v/riter,  v/hose  style 
is  clothed  in  a  simple,  and  sometimes  even  in  a  vulgar 
habit,  penetrates  to  the  bottom  of  the  heart,  by  the 
sincerity  of  his  sentiments.  Ke  makes  you  weep,  as 
he  makes  you  laugh,  by  exciting  sympathy,  and  by 
giving  you  to  recognize  a  fellow -creature  and  a  friend 
in  all  he  feels.  Nothing  can  be  extracted  from  the 
writings  of  Claudius,  his  talent  acts  like  sensation,  and 
to  speak  of  it,  it  is  necessary  to  have  felt  it.  He  re- 
sembles those  Fleniish  painters  v/ho  sometimes  rise  to 
the  representation  of  what  is  most  noble  in  nature,  or 
to  the  Spanish  Muriilos  \y\-\o  paints  poor  beggars  with 
the  utmost  exactness,  and  yet  often  gives  them,  uncon- 
sciously, some  traits  of  a  noble  and  profound  impres- 
sion. To  mix  the  comic  and  the  pathetic  with  suc- 
cess, it  is  necessary  to  be  eminently  natural  in  both  ; 
as  soon  as  the  artificial  makes  its  appearance,  all  con- 
trast vanishes;  but  a  great  genius  fiili  of  simplicity 
may  successfuiiy  represeiU  a«  unioii;  of  which  the 


QS  OF  LTTEBATURE  AND  TFIE  AliTS. 


only  charm  is  on  the  countenance  of  childhood,  a  smile 
in  the  midst  of  tears. 

Another  writer  of  later  date  and  greater  celebrity 
than  Claudius,  has  acquired  great  reputation  in  Ger- 
many by  works  which  might  be  called  novels,  if  any 
known  denomination  could  suit  productions  so  extra- 
ordinary. J.  Paul  Richter  is  possessed  of  powers  cer- 
tainly more  than  sufficient  to  compose  a  work  that 
would  be  as  interesting  to  foreigners  as  to  his  own 
countrymen,  and  yet  nothing  that  he  has  ])ublished  can 
ever  extend  beyond  tlie  limits  of  Germany.  His  ad- 
mirers will  say  that  this  results  from  the  originality 
even  of  his  genius  ;  I  think  that  his  faults  are  as  much 
the  cause  of  it  as  his  excellencies.  In  these  modern 
times,  the  mind  should  be  European  ;  the  Germans 
encourage  their  authors  too  much  in  that  wandering 
spirit  of  enterprise,  which,  daring  as  it  seems,  is  not 
always  void  of  affectation.  Madame  de  Lambert  said 
to  her  son  : — my  friend,  indulge  yourself  in  no  follies 
that  will  not  afford  you  a  very  high  degree  of  pleasure. 
— We  might  beg  J.  Pa.ul  never  to  be  singular  except 
in  spite  of  himself;  v/hatever  is  said  involuntarily  al- 
ways hits  some  natural  feeling ;  but  when  natural  orig- 
inality is  spoiled  by  the  pretension  to  originality,  the 
reader  has  no  perfect  enjoyment  even  of  what  is  true, 
from  the  remembrance  and  the  dread  of  what  is  other= 
wise. 

Some  admirable  beauties  are  to  be  found  neverthe» 
less,  in  the  works  of  J.  Paul;  but  the  arrangement  arid 
frame  of  his  pictures  are  so  defective  that  the  most 
luminous  traits  of  genius  are  lost  in  the  general  con- 
fusion. The  writings  of  J.  Paul  deserve  to  be  consid- 
ered in  tv.'o  points  of  view,  the  pleasant  and  the  se- 
rious ;  for  he  constantly  mixes  both  together.  His 
manner  of  observing  the  human  heart  is  full  of  delicacy 
and  vivacity,  but  his  knowledge  of  it,  is  merely  such, 
as  maybe  acquired  in  the  little  towns  of  Germany,  and 
in  his  delineation  of  manners,  confined  as  it  is,  there 
is  frequently  something  too  innocent  for  the  age  in 
whic!i  we  live.  Observat'ons  so  delicate  and  almost 
laii^ute,  on  the  moral  aff'^ctioiis;  r^cai  a  iittie  to-o^j.; 


OP  NOAnEL&. 


recollection  the  personage  in  the  fairy  tales  who  went 
by  the  name  of  Fine  Ear,  because  he  could  hear  the 
grass  g-row.  In  this  respect  Sterne  bears  some  analogy 
to  J.  Paul ;  but  if  Paul  is  very  superior  to  him  in  the  se- 
rious and  poetical  part  of  his  works,  Sterne  has  more 
taste  and  elegance  in  his  pleasantry,  and  we  see  that  he 
lias  lived  in  societies  less  confined  and  more  brillianto 

Thoughts  extracted  from  the  writing  s  of  J.Paul,  would 
however  form  a  very  remarkable  work  ;  but  we  perceive 
in  reading  them  his  singular  custom  of  collecting  from 
every  quarter,  from  obsolete  books,  scientific  works, 
Sec.  all  his  metaphors  and  allusions.  The  resemblances 
thus  produced  are  almost  always  very  ingenious  ;  but 
when  study  and  attention  are  required  to  enable  us  to 
find  out  a  jest,  scarcely  any  but  the  Germans  would 
consent  thus  to  laugh  after  a  serious  study,  and  giv?- 
themselves  as  much  trouble  to  understand  v/hat  amus- 
es them,  as  what  is  calculated  for  their  instruction. 

At  the  bottom  of  all  this,  we  find  a  mine  of  new 
ideas,  and  if  v/e  reach  it,  v/e  are  enriched  ;  but  the  au- 
thor has  neglected  the  stamp  v/hich  should  have  been 
given  to  those  treasures.  The  gaiety  of  the  French  is 
derived  from  the  spirit  of  society  ;  that  of  the  Italians 
from  the  imagination  ;  that  of  the  English  from  orig- 
inality of  character  ;  the  gaiety  of  the  Germans  is  phiic« 
sophic  ;  they  jest  with  things  and  with  books,  rather  than 
with  men.  Their  heads  contain  a  chaos  of  knowledge, 
which  an  independent  and  fantastic  imagination  com- 
bines in  a  thousand  different  ways,  sometim.es  origin- 
al, sometimes  confused  ;  but  in  which  v/e  always  per- 
ceive great  vigour  of  intellect  and  of  sou]. 

The  genius  of  J.  Paul  frequently  resembles  that  of 
Montaigne.  The  French  authors  of  former  times  are 
ill  general  more  like  the  Germans,  than  writers  of  the 
age  of  Louis  XIV  ;  for  it  is  since  that  time  that 
French  literature  has  taken  a  classical  direction. 

Paul  Pcichter  is  often  sublime  in  the  serious  parts  of 
his  v/orkb  :  hut  the  continued  melancholy  strain  of  his 
language  sometimes  moves  till  it  fatigues  us.  When 
the  imagination  is  kept  too  long  in  the  clouds,  the  col- 
ours are  confused,  the  outlines  are  effaced,  and  is^q. 


■70 


OF  LITERATURE  AKD  THE  ARTS. 


retain  of  all  that  we  have  read,  rather  a  reverbera* 
tion  of  the  sound,  than  a  recoliection  of  the  sub- 
stance. The  sensibility  of  J.  Paul,  aftects  the  soul, 
hat  does  not  su  ficiently  strengthen  it.  Th^  poetry  of 
hh  style  resembles  the  sounds  of  an  harmonica,  which 
delit^ht  us  at  first,  but  g^ive  us  pain  a  few  minutes 
afterwards,  because  the  exaltation  excited  by  them  has 
no  determinate  object.  We  give  too  great  an  advan- 
tage to  cold  and  insipid  characters,  when  we  represent 
sensibility  to  them  as  a  disease,  while  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  the  most  energetic  of  all  our  moral  faculties,  since 
it  imparts  both  the  desire  and  ability  to  devote  our- 
selves to  the  v/elfare  of  others. 

Amongst  the  affecting  episodes  which  abound  in 
the  v/'itings  of  J.  Paul,  v/here  the  principal  subjects 
are  seldom  more  tiian  slight  pretexts  to  introduce  the 
episodes,  I  v.'ili  now  quote  three,  taken  by  chance,  to 
give  an  idea  ©f  the  rest»  An  Englisii  lord  is  blind 
in  consequence  of  a  double  cataract,  he  has  an  opera- 
tion performed  on  one  of  his  eyes  ;  it  fails,  and  that  eye 
is  lost  without  resource.  His  son,  without  informing 
him  of  it,  studies  with  an  oculist,  and  at  the  end  of  a 
year,  he  is  judged  cap^ible  of  operating  on  the  eye 
"which  may  yet  be  preserved.  TliC  father,  ignorant  of 
liis  son*b  intention,  thinks  he  is  placing  hirnaeif  in  the 
hands  of  a  stranger,  ai,d  prepares  himscif  with  forti- 
tude for  the  moment  which  is  to  decide  whether  ihc  rest 
of  his  life  is,  or  is  not,  to  be  passed  in  darkness  ;  he  even 
directs  that  his  son  should  be  sent  from  his  chamber, 
that  he  may  not  be  too  much  affected  by  being  present 
at  so  important  a  decision.  The  son  approaches  his 
father  in  silence  ;  his  hand  does  not  tremble;  for  the 
circumstance  is  too  momentous  to  admit  of  the  common 
signs  of  tenderness.  All  his  soul  is  concentrated  in  a 
simple  thought,  and  even  the  excess  of  his  serjsibility 
gives  that  supernatural  presence  of  mind,  wnich  would 
be  succeeded  by  frenzy,  if  hope  were  lost.  At  length 
the  operation  succeeds,  and  tne  father,  in  recovi  ring- 
his  sight,  beholds  the  instrument  of  its  restoration  in 
the  hand  of  his  own  son  I 


71 


Another  novel  by  the  same  author  also  presents  a  ver^ 
affecting  situation. — A  y«  ung  blind  man  requests  a  de- 
scription of  the  setting-  sun,  whose  mild  a;  d  pure  rays, 
he  says,  he  feels  in  the  atmosphere,  like  the  farewell  of 
a  friend.  The  person  whom  he  interrogates,  describes 
nature  to  him  in  ail  its  beauty  ;  but  he  mingles  in  his 
painting  an  impression  of  melaiicholy,  calculated  to 
console  the  unfortunate  being  who  is  deprived  of  sight. 
He  incessantly  appeals  to  tise  Bei'.y,  as  to  the  living 
source  of  all  the  living  wonders  of  the  world  ;  and 
bringing  every  thing  within  the  scope  of  that  intellec- 
tual sight  which  the  blind  man  probabiy  enjoys  in  a 
more  perfect  manner  than  we  do,  he  makes  his  soul 
perceive  what  his  eyes  can  no  longer  behold. 

I  will  now  venture  a  translation  of  a  very  strange 
compo'sition,  but  which  will  assist  us  in  forming  an 
opinion  of  the  genius  of  John  Paul. 

Bayle  has  soraewuere  said,  that     atheism  does  not 
shelter  us  from  the  fear  of  eternal  suffering      it  is  a 
grand  thought,  and  it  offers  to  us  a  wicie  field  for  re- 
flection.   The  dream  of  J.  Paul  which  I  am  now  going 
[  to  mention,  may  be  considered  as  this  thought  ex- 
I  tended  to  action. 

This  dream  in  some  measure  resembles  the  delirium 
.  of  a  fevtr,  and  ought  to  be  considered  as  such.  In 
I  every  respect  except  that  of  displaying  the  powers  of 
[  imagination,  it  is  extremely  liable  to  censure. 

"  The  ii:tention  of  this  fiction,'*  says  John  Paul, 
"  will  excuse  the  boldness  of  it.  If  my  heart  were 
"  ever  so  wretched,  so  dried  up,  as  that  all  the  senti- 
«  ments  which  affirm  the  existence  of  a  God,  were 
«  annihilated  in  it,  I  would  again  read  over  these 
"  pages ;  they  would  deeply  affect  me,  and  in  their 
"  perusal,  I  should  recover  my  hope  of  salvation  and 
«  my  faith.  Some  men  deny  the  existence  of  a  God 
"  with  as  much  indifference  as  others  admit  it;  and  it  is 
«  possible  t^>  believe  in  it  for  twenty  years,  and  yet  not 
«  perhaps  till  the  twenty-first  to  find  the  solemn  mo- 
ment  hi  which  whh  transport  we  discover  ihe  rich  ac- 
"  ccmpaniment  of  tliai  beiiet,  the  viviiying  heat  of  that 
fouiuahi  of  naphtha. 


OF  LITERATURE  AKD  THE  ARTS-. 


«  A  Dream. 

«  When,  in  childhood,  we  are  told  that  towards  mid° 
"  night,  at  the  hour  when  sleep  has  most  povver  over 
«  our  souls,  dreams  become  more  troubled,  the  dead 
"  rise  from  their  2:raves,  and  in  solitary  churches,  imitate 
"  the  pious  practices  of  the  IWms:  ;  death  frightens  us 
"  on  account  of  the  dead.    When  darkness  approach- 

es,  we  turn  our  eyes  from  the  church  and  its  black- 
"  ened  casements:  tiie  terrors  of  c.^ikihood,  stiil  more 
"  than  its  pleasures,  take  wings  and  flutter  round  us 
"  during  the  night  of  the  lis/htly  slumbering  soul. 
"  Av)  I  extinguish  not  those  scintillations  ;  leave  us  to 
"  our  dreanis,  however  sad.    They  are  still  nsore  pleas- 

ing  than  our  real  existence  ;  they  brrng  us  back  to 
^'  that  age  in  which  the  stream  of  life  still  receives  a 
"  rejection  oi  the  heavens. 

I  was  reclining  one  summ.er  evening,  on  tlie  sum- 
"  mit  of  a  hili,  and  falling  asleep  there,  I  dreamt, 
"  that  I  awoke  in  the  middle  of  the  night  in  a  church- 
^'  yard.    The  clock  struck  eleven.    The  tombs  were 

all  half  open,  and  the  iron  gates  of  the  church,  mov- 
^'  ed  by  an  invisible  hand,  opened  and  shut  again  with 
"  great  noise.  I  saw  shadows  flitting  along  the  wails, 
"  which  were  not  cast  on  it  by  any  bodily  substance  : 

other  livid  spectres  rose  in  the  air,  and  children  alone 
«  still  reposed  in  their  coffins.    There  was  a  greyish 

heavy  stifling  cloud  in  the  sky,  which  was  strained 
"  and  compressed  into  long  folds  by  a  gigantic  phan- 
"  torn.  Above  T)\e  I  heard  the  distant  fall  of  avaian- 
"  ches,  and  under  my  feet  the  first  commotion  of  a 
"  a  mighty  earthquake.  The  church  shook,  and  the 
"  air  was  agitated  by  piercing  and  discordant  sounds. 

"  The  pale  lightning  cast  a  mournful  iignt.  I  felt 
"  myself  impelled  by  terror  to  seek  shelter  in  the  tern- 
"  pie  :  two  splendid  basilics  were  placed  before  its  for- 
"  midable  gates. 

"  I  advanced  amidst  the  crowd  of  unknown  shades 
"  on  whom  the  seal  of  ancient  ages  was  imprinted  ; 
"  thty  all  pressed  round  the  despoiled  altar,  and  ti;eir 
^  breasts  only  breathed  and  were  agitated  with  vio- 


73 


^  lence  ;  one  corpse  alone  which  bad  been  lately  buried 
*'  in  the  church,  reposed  on  its  winding  sheet;  there 

was  yet  no  motion  in  its  breast,  and  a  pleasin.^  dream 
^  gave  a  smile  to  its  countenance  ;  but  at  the  approach 

of  a  living  being  it  awoke,  ceased  to  smile,  and 
"  opened  its  hea^y  eyelids  with  a  painful  effort;  the 
"  socket  of  the  eye  was  empty,  and  where  the  heart 
"  had  been,  there  was  only  a  deep  wound  ;  it  raised  its 
"  hands  and  joined  them  to  pray  ;  but  the  arms  iength- 

ened,  were  detached  from  the  body,  and  the  clasped 

hands  fell  to  the  earth. 

"In  the  vaulted  ceiiino:  of  the  church  v/as  placed 
"  the  dial  of  eternity  ;  no  figures  or  index  were  there, 
^  but  a  black  hand  went  slowly  round,  and  the  dead 
"  endeavoured  to  read  on  it  the  lapse  of  time. 

"  From  the  high  places,  there  then  descended  on  the 
^'  altar  a  figure  beaming  with  light,  noble,  elevated,  nut 
"  who  bore  the  impression  of  never-ending  sorrow  ;  the 
"  dead  cried  out ;  O  Ciudst  !  is  there  then  no  God  ?  he 

replied  :  There  is  none. — All  the  spectres  then  began 
"  to  tremble  violently,  and  Christ  continued  thus:  I 
"  have  traversed  worlds,  I  have  raised  myself  above 
"  their  suns,  and  there  also,  there  is  no  God  ;  I  have 
^'  descended  to  the  lowest  limits  of  the  universe,  I 
«  looked  into  the  abyss,  and  I  cried  :-— O  Father,  where 
«  art  thou  ?  yet  I  heard  nothing  but  the  rain  which  fell 

drop  by  drop  into  the  abyss,  and  the  everlasting  and 
"  ungovernable  tempest  alone  answered  me.  Tnea 
«  raising  my  regards  to  the  vault  of  heaven,  I  saw  only 
«  an  empty  orbit,  dark  and  bottomless.  Eternity  re- 
«  posed  on  chaos,  and  in  gnawing  it,  slowly  also  de- 
«  vourcd  itself  ;  redouble  then  your  bitter  and  piercinp- 
"  complaints  ;  may  shrill  cries  disperse  your  spirits, 

f  jr  all  hope  is  over. 

"  The  spectres  in  despair  vanished  like  the  white  va- 
«  pour  condensed  by  the  frosc  ;  the  church  was  soon 
"  deserted  ;  but  all  at  once  (terrific  sight)  the  dead 

children,  who  were  now  awakened  in  their  turn  in 
«  tae  church-yard,  ran  and  prostrated  themselves  be- 
"  fore  the  majestic  figure  which  was  on  the  altar,  say- 

in:,  to  him  ^—Jesus,  have  we  no  father  ?— and  re- 

TOL.  II.  Q  - 


OF  UTEEATXJUE  ANB  THE  ARTS. 


"  plied  with  a  torrent  of  tears  : — We  are  all  orphansj 
"  neither  I  nor  you  have  any  father. — At  these  words, 
"  the  temple  and  the  children  were  swallowed  up,  and 
"  all  the  edifice  of  the  world  sunk  before  me  into  the 
*^  immensity  of  space." 

I  shall  add  no  observations  on  this  singular  essay, 
the  effect  of  which  must  depend  entirely  on  the  spe- 
cies of  imagination  possessed  by  the  reader.  I  was 
struck  by  the  gloomy  cast  of  the  talents  it  displays,  and 
it  appeared  to  me  a  fine  idea,  thus  to  carry  beyond  the 
grave  the  horrible  despair  which  every  creature  would 
necessarily  feel  if  deprived  of  God. 

I  should  never  lay  down  my  pen  if  I  were  to  analyse 
the  multitude  of  witty  and  affecting  novels  to  be  found 
in  Germany.  Those  of  La  Fontaine  in  particular, 
■whicn  are  read  at  least  once  by  every  one  with  so  much 
pleasure,  are  frequently  more  interesting  in  the  detail 
than  of  the  general  plan  or  conception  of  the  subject. 
To  invent  becomes  daily  more  uncommon  ;  and  be- 
sides, novels  which  delineate  manners,  can  with  difficul- 
ty be  rendered  pleasing  in  different  countries.  The 
great  advaiitage,  therefore,  which  may  be  derived  from 
the  study  of  German  literature,  is  the  spirit  of  emu- 
lation which  it  imparts  ;  we  should  rather  seek  in  it  the 
means  of  writing  well  ourselves,  than  expect  from  it 
■works  already  written  which  may  be  worthy  oi  bt'm^ 
traosinittcd  to  other  nations. 


©F  GEIcMAX  HISTORIANS. 


Hp 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Of  Gervmn  Historians^  and  of  J.  de  JS'xUlUr  in  par- 
ticular. 


History  is  the  portion  of  literature  most  nearly 
connected  with  the  knowledge  of  public  aftairs  ;  a 
great  historian  is  almost  a  statesman  ;  for  it  is  scai  ce- 
1>  possible  to  form  a  right  judgment  of  political 
events,  without  being,  in  a  certain  degree,  able  also 
to  conduct  them  ;  thus  we  see  that  the  greater  num- 
ber of  historians  are  well  acquainted  with  the  govern- 
ment of  their  country,  and  write  only  as  they  might 
have  acted.  In  the  first  rank  of  historians  we  must 
reckon  those  of  antiquity,  because  there  is  no  period 
in  which  men  of  superior  talents  have  exerted  more 
influence  over  their  country.  The  Englisn  historians 
occupy  the  second  rank  ;  but  the  appellation  of  great, 
belongs  rather  to  tlieir  nation,  than  to  any  particular 
individual ;  and  its  historians  are  therefore  less  dra- 
matic, but  more  philosophical  than  those  of  ancient 
times.  The  English  affix  more  importance  to  gener- 
al, than  to  particular  ideas.  In  Italy,  Machiavel  is  the 
only  historian  who  has  considered  the  events  of  his 
country  in  a  coniprehensivo,  though  in  a  terrible  man- 
ner; all  the  others  have  seen  the  world  in  their  ov^n 
city;  but  this  patriotism,  confined  as  it  is,  still  im- 
parts interest  and  spirit  to  the  writings  of  Italy.* 
It  has  been  always  remarked  that  in  France,  me- 
moirs are  much  better  than  histories  ;  the  intrigues  of 

*  31.  de  Sismtindi  ha?,  in  his  v^-riting•s,  revived  the  partial  in- 
terests of  the  Itiihan  repubhcs,  by  coiviiectmg-  lliem  ^vith  the 
great  subjects  of  enoimy  which  are  intereistiiig-  tQ  the  whole 
£iniian  race* 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


courts  formerly  determined  the  fate  of  the  kingdom-, 
it  was  therefore  very  natural  that  in  such  a  country^ 
private  anecdotes  should  contain  the  secret  of  his- 
tory. 

It  is  under  a  literary  point  of  view  that  we  should 
consider  the  German  historians ;  the  political  exis- 
tence of  the  country  has  not  hitherto  had  power  to 
give  a  national  character  to  that  class  of  writers.  The 
talents  peculiar  to  each  individual,  and  the  general  prin- 
ciples of  the  historic  art,  have  alone  influenced  this  sort 
of  production  of  the  human  mind.  It  appears  to  m& 
that  the  various  historical  writings  published  in  G-^r- 
iviany,  may  be  divided  into  three  principal  classes  : 
learned  history,  philosophical  history,  and  classical 
liistory,  as  fa.r  as  the  acceptation  of  that  word  is  corifi- 
jied,  as  the  ancients  understood  it  to  be,  to  the  art  of 
narration. 

Germany  abounds  with  learned  historians,  such  as 
Mascou,  Schopflin,  Schlozer,  Gatterer,  Schmidt,  Sec. 
Tiiey  have  m.ade  protoimd  researchesy  ar;d  have  given 
us  works  where  every  thing  is  to  be  found  by  those 
"who  know  how  to  study  them  ;  but  such  writers  are 
fit  only  to  refer  to,  and  their  works  would  be  beyond 
all  others  estimable  and  liberal,  if  their  only  object 
Jiad  been  to  spare  trouble  to  men  of  genius,  who  are 
desirous  of  writing  history. 

Schiller  is  at  the  head  of  the  philosophical  histori- 
ans, that  is  to  say,  of  those  who  consider  facts,  as  so 
luany  reasons  for  the  support  of  their  own  opinions. 
The  History  of  the  Revolution  in  the  Low  Countries 
is  written  with  as  mucli  warmth  and  interest,  as  if  it 
were  a  plea  in  a  court  of  justice.  The  Thirty  Years 
"War  is  an  epoch  which  caiied  forth  the  energies  of  the 
German  nation.  Schiller  has  written  its  history  with 
a  sentiment  of  patriotism  and  love  of  knowledge  and 
liberty,  which  does  great  credit  both  to  his  heart  and 
his  genius;  the  traits  with  which  he  characterizes  the 
principal  personages,  are  of  a  very  superior  kind,  and 
all  his  reflections  are  derived  from  the  concentrations 
of  an  elevated  mind  ;  but  the  Germans  reproach 
Schiiler  with  not  having-  sufficiently  traced  fcict^-up  t«- 


77 


{y^civ  sources ;  he  could  not  entirely  nil  the  great 
oiitlii-es  chalked  out  by  his  uncommon  talents;  and 
the  erudition  on  which  his  history  is  founded  is  not 
suiTicienlly  extensive.  I  have  frequently  had  occasion 
to  observe,  that  tne  Germans  were  the  first  to  feel  ail 
the  advantages  which  imagination  might  derive  from 
iearninp:  ;  circumstantial  details  a^ one  give  colour  aixl 
life  to  i-iisto  y:  on  the  surface  of  our  knowledge  we 
scarcely  find  any  tning  more  than  a  pretext  for  reason 
and  arguineiit. 

Schi  ler's  history  was  written  in  that  part  of  the 
eig;iteentn  century,  when  ideas  were  used  only  as 
weapons  of  hostile  aruunient,  ai>d  his  style  is  a  little 
tiiiCtUiCd  with  the  poit  mical  spirit  so  prevalent  in  al- 
most all  the  writings  of  that  period.  But  when  the 
object  aimed  at  is  toleration  and  liberty,  and  that  we 
acivance  towards  it  by  means  and  sentiments  so  nobie 
jis  those  of  Schiller,  v.'e  are  always  sure  of  compo* 
sing  a  fiiie  work,  even  though  more  or  less  room 
might  be  desirable  in  the  part  assigr.ed  to  facts  and 
refiec lions.*  By  a  singular  contrast,  it  is  ScJdiier,  the 
great  dramaiic  poet,  who  has  mingled  perhaps  too 
much  philosophy,  and  consequently  too  many  general 
ideas  in  ids  narrations,  and  it  is  IMuller,  the  most 
learned  of  historians,  who  has  been  truly  a  poet  in  bis* 
manner  of  describing  both  men  and  events.  In  the 
History  of  Switzeiiand  we  must  distinguish  the  learn* 
ed  man  and  the  able  v/riter  ;  and  I  think  it  is  oniy  by 
this  means  tnai  we  shall  succeed  in  doing  justice  to 
Mliller.  He  was  a  man  ol"  unparalleled  knowledge, 
and  his  abilities  in  that  respect,  ready  frightened  those 
"vvho  were  acquainted  witn  them.  We  cannot  con- 
ceive how  tne  head  ot  one  m.aji  could  contain  such  a 
world  of  facts  and  of  dates.  The  six  thousand  years 
which  are  known  to  us,  were  perfectly  arranged  hi  his 
memory,  and  his  studies  had  been  so  deep,  that  they 
were  as  tresh  as  if  they  were  recoiiections.  Thero 

*  Among-st  philosophical  historians,  we  must  not  forg-et  ISf. 
Heeren,  wnoliasjusc  pubushed  Thoughts  on  thv;  Crusaders," 
ill  whiCh  perfect  nTipartiahiy  is  the  resuii  of  tmgoniiuoil  kiiowf' 
edge  jid  sireiig-ih  oi  judgment. 

TOL.  II.  G  ^ 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


is  not  a  village  in  Switzerland,  not  a  noble  family  of 
■^vhich  he  did  not  knov/  the  history.  One  day,  in  con- 
sequence of  a  wager,  he  was  requested  to  give  the 
pedigree  oi  the  sovereign  counts  of  Bugey :  he  re- 
peated their  names  one  after  another  immediately,  only 
lie  did  not  clearly  recollect  whether  one  of  those  he 
jnentioned  had  been  regent,  or  sovereign  in  his  own 
aight,  and  he  seriously  reproached  himself  for  this  de- 
fect of  memory.  Men  of  genius  among  the  ancients 
%vere  not  subjected  to  that  immense  labour  of  erudi- 
tion which  is  augmenting  with  every  century,  and 
their  imaginations  vi'ere  not  fatigued  by  study.  It  costs 
anuch  more  to  acquire  distinction  in  our  days,  and  we 
©we  some  respect  to  the  persevering  toil  which  is 
jnecessary  in  order  to  gain  possession  of  the  subject 
4.]nder  investigation. 

The  death  of  Muller,  of  whose  character  there  are 
:s'arious  opinii^ns,  is  an  irreparable  loss  to  literature, 
,and  it  seems  as  if  more  than  one  man  were  taken  from 
«.Hs,  when  such  talents  are  extinguished.* 

Muller,  who  may  be  considered  as  the  true  classical 
liistorian  of  Germany,  constantly  read  both  the  Greek 
and  Latin  authors  in  their  original  language  ;  he  cul- 
tivated literature  and  the  fine  arts  as  subservient  to 
history.  His  unbounded  erudition,  far  from  diminish- 
ing his  natural  vivacity,  was  rather  the  foundation  from 
^vhencehis  imagination  took  its  flight,  and  the  striking 
Iruth  of  his  pictures  was  the  result  of  the  scrupulous 
fidelity  with  which  they  were  drawn ;  but  though  he 
made  admirable  use  of  his  learning,  he  was  ignorant 
ef  the  art  of  laying  it  aside  when  necessary.  His  his» 
.tory  is  much  too  long  ;  he  has  not  sufficiently  com- 
pressed  the  different  parts  of  it  together.    Details  arc 

*  Amongst  the  disciples  of  Mlillsr,  the  Baron  de  Hormayi*, 
who  wrote  the  Austrian  l*iutarchy,  should  be  considered  as  oner 
cf  the  first ;  we  know  that  his  history  is  composed,  not  from. 
l^ooks,  but  from  original  manuscripts.  Doctor.  Decarro,  a  learn- 
ed. Genevese  settled  at  Yienna,  by  whose  beneficent  activity  the 
discovery  of  vaccmation  has  been  earned  into  Asia,  is  about  m 
publish  a  translation  of  these  lives  of  \h$  gr^at  Jjieii  pf  A^te.a^ 
wlftich  Will  ex-Cite  grtat  if»t«i-^st, 


SF  GEHMAN'  HISTORIANS, 


T9 


fiecessary  to  give  interest  to  the  recital  of  events ;  but 
we  ought  to  choose  amongst  those  events  such  as  are 
worthy  to  be  recited. 

The  v/ork  of  Mllller  is  an  eloquent  chronicle;  if, 
however,  all  histories  were  thus  conducted,  the  life 
of  man  would  be  entirely  spent  in  reading  the  lives  of 
men.  It  were  much  to  be  wished,  therefore,  that 
Miiller  had  not  suffered  himself  to  be  led  astray  even 
by  the  extent  of  his  knowledge.  Nevertheless,  read- 
ers who  have  the  more  time  at  their  command,  be- 
cause they  make  a  better  use  of  it  will  always  feel  new 
pleasure  in  perusing  those  noble  annals  of  Switzerland. 
The  preliminary  chapters  are  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  elo- 
quence. No  one  has  known  better  than  Miiller  how 
to  display  in  his  writings  the  most  energetic  patriot- 
ism ;  and  now  he  is  no  more,  it  is  by  his  writings  alone 
that  we  can  appreciate  him.  He  describes,  with  the 
skill  of  a  painter,  the  scenes  in  which  the  principal 
events  cf  the  lielvetic  confederation  took  place.  It 
would  be  wrong  to  become  the  historian  of  a  country 
we  have  never  beheld.  Situations,  places,  nature  it- 
self, are  like  the  body  of  the  picture  ;  and  facts,  hov/- 
ever  well  they  may  be  related,  have  not  the  character 
of  truth,  if  the  external  objects  with  which  men  are 
surrounded,  are  not,  at  the  same  time,  brought  for- 
ward to  our  view. 

That  erudition  which  led  Miiller  to  ascribe  too  much 
importance  to  every  particular  fact,  is  extremely  use- 
ful to  him,  when  the  object  is  an  event  really  deserv- 
ing of  being  animated  by  the  powers  of  imagination. 
He  then  relates  it,  as  if  it  bad  passed  but  yesterday, 
and  knows  hov/  to  give  it  all  the  interest  which  we 
should  feel  from  a  circumstance  still  present  to  us. 

In  history  as  weil  as  in  fictions,  v/e  ouglitas  m.uch  as 
possible,  to  leave  to  the  reader  the  pleasure  and  op- 
ponunity  of  anticipating  the  characters  of  men  and  the 
progress  of  events.  He  is  soon  tired  v.dth  what  is 
toid  him,  but  he  is  delighted  with  what  he  iiimseif 
discovers  ;  and  we  assimilate  literature  to  the  interests 
of  life,  when  we  know  hov/ to  awaken  the  anxiety  of 
^^xpecuu^D  by  a  iiiere  rcciialj  tlie  judgment  of  ibp 


80  •        OP  LITEUATURE  AND  THE  ARTg. 


reader  is  exercised  on  a  ^rorcl,  on  an  action  winch 
makes  him  at  once  understand  the  character  of  a  man 
and  often  the  spiiit  even  of  a  nation  or  of  a  century. 

The  conspiracy  of  Riilli,  as  it  is  related  in  the  His- 
tory of  Miiiier  excites  very  great  interest.  That  peace- 
ful valley,  where  men  equally  peaceable,  resolved  on 
the  most  perilous  actions  at  the  command  of  con- 
science; the  calmness  of  their  deliberation,  the  solem- 
nity of  their  oath  :  their  ardour  in  the  execution  of  it : 
an  irrevocable  determination  founded  on  the  will  of 
man,  while  all  without  is  changeable,  what  a  picture  ! 
The  imagery  alone  awakens  thought ;  the  heroes  of 
this  event,  as  the  author  relates  ii,  are  absorbed  by 
the  grandeur  of  their  object.  No  general  idea  pre- 
sents itself  to  their  mind,  no  rejection  occurs  to  di« 
minish  the  iirmnebS  of  the  action,  or  the  beauty  of  the 
recilal. 

At  the  battle  of  Granson,  in  which  the  duke  of  Bur- 
gundy attacked  the  small  arrny  (jf  the  Swiss  Cantons, 
a  simple  trait  gives  the  most  affcctii  g  idea  of  those 
times  and  manners.  Charles  already  occupied  tlie 
heights,  and  thought  Mmself  master  of  the  army 
which  he  saw  at  a  distance  on  the  plain  ;  when  all  at 
once,  at  the  rising  of  the  sun,  he  perceived  the  Swissy 
who,  according  to  the  cusi  om  of  their  fathers,  fell  on 
their  knees  before  the  battle  to  implore  the  protection 
of  the  Lord  of  Lords  ;  the  Burgundians  thought  they 
were  kneeliijg  thus,  in  order  lo  yield  up  their  arms, 
and  began  to  siiout  triumphal. tly  ;  but  all  at  once  tiiose 
Christian  soldiers,  fortified  by  prayer,  rose  from  tlie 
ground,  fell  on  their  adversaries,  and  at  lerjgth  obtain 
the  victory  of  which  their  pious  ardour  had  rendei  ed 
them  so  worthy.  Circumstances  of  this  sort  are  often 
found  in  Mlliier's  History,  and  his  language  affects  the 
soul,  even  when  what  he  says  is  not  hi  itself  pathetic;, 
there  is  sometL\ing  grave,  noble,  and  chaste  in  his  styie, 
winch  powerfully  awakens  the  recollection  of  ancient 
times. 

Miiiler  had  nevertheless  much  versatility  ;  but  gen- 
ius asbuoics  ail  forms  without  being  on  that  account 
subjected  to  the  charge  of  hypocrisy.    It  is  what  it  ap-^ 


OF  GERMAN  mSTOIlLi:N"S. 


pears  to  be,  but  it  cannot  al'vaj^s  continue  in  the  same 
disposition,  and  external  circumstances  give  it  differ- 
ent modifications.  It  is  above  all  to  the  colouring  of 
his  style  that  MUller  owes  his  power  over  the  ima^^ina" 
tion  ;  the  old  words  which  he  makes  use  of  so  much 
to  the  purpose,  give  an  air  of  Germanic  faith  which 
inspires  us  with  confidence.  Nevei  theiess  he  is  wrong- 
in  attempting  to  unite  the  coi^ciseness  of  Tacitus  with 
the  naivete  of  the  middle  ages;  these  two  imitations 
are  inconsistent  with  each  other.  There  is  even  no 
one  but  Miiiier  witi]  whom  tiie  old  German  phraseolo- 
gy sometimes  succeeds  ;  in  every  one  else  it  is  affecta* 
tion.  Sailust  alone  among  tiie  ancient  writers  ventur- 
ed to  make  use  of  the  forms  and  language  of  a  period 
anterior  to  his  own;  in  general  this  sort  of  imitation  is 
unnatural  to  us;  nevertlieless  the  chronicles  of  the 
middle  ages  were  so  familiar  to  Mliller,  that  he  often 
tinintentioiia;ly  wrote  in  the  same  style.  Those  ex« 
pressions  must  certainly  have  been  natural  to  him  siiic& 
they  in  pire  al!  that  he  wished  us  to  feel. 

In  reading  Miiiier  we  have  pleasure  in  believing  that 
lie  possessed  at  least  some  of  the  virtues  which  he 
knev/  so  well  how  to  appreciate.  His  last  will,  which 
has  been  just  published,  is  unaoubtedly  a  proof  of  his 
disinterestedness.  He  leaves  no  fortune  but  directs 
his  manuscripts  to  be  sold  in  order  to  pay  his  debts. 
He  adds,  that  if  the  produce  is  sufficient  to  discharge 
them.,  he  bequeaths  his  watch  to  his  servant,  "  who 
"  will  not,"  he  says,  receive  without  tender  emotion, 
"  the  watch  which  he  has  daily  wound  up  for  twenty 
"  years.'*  The  poverty  of  a  man  possessed  of  s.ucli 
distinguished  talents  is  always  an  honouj-abie  circum- 
stance of  his  life :  a  thousandth  part  of  the  genius 
which  confers  a  high  literary  reputation  would  certain- 
ly be  sufficient  to  ensure  the  success  of  all  the  calcu- 
lations of  covetousness.  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  devote 
one's  talents  to  the  pursuit  of  fame,  and  we  always  leel 
esteem  for  those  who  ardently  aspire  after  an  obieot 
■\yhicn  lies  beyond  the  grave. 


$%  or  UTERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Herder. 


J.  HE  men  of  literature  in  Germaiiy,  as  a  united  bd» 
dy,  form  in  many  respects  the  raost  respectable  as- 
semblage which  the  enlightened  world  can  present  to 
us,  and  among  these,  Herder  deserves  a  distinguished 
place  :  his  mind,  his  genius,  and  his  morality  united, 
have  rendered  his  life  illustrious.  His  writings  may 
be  considered  in  three  different  points  of  view,  those 
of  history,  literature  and  theology.  He  was  much 
occupied  in  the  study  of  antiquity  in  general,  and  of 
the  oriental  languages  in  particular.  His  book  enti- 
tled "  the  Philosophy  of  History"  has  more  fascina- 
tion in  it  than  almost  any  other  German  production.  We 
do  not  indeed  find  that  it  contaiiis  the  same  depth  of  po- 
liiical  observation  as  the  work  written  by  Montesquieu 
on  the  greatness  and  decline  of  the  Romans;  but  as 
Herder's  object  was  to  penetrate  the  genius  of  the 
.earliest  periods  of  time,  perhaps  the  quality  he  most 
eminently  possessed,  which  was  imagination,  proved 
more  serviceable  to  him  in  that  pursuit  than  any  other 
would  have  done  :  that  sort  of  torch  is  necessary  when 
-we  walk  in  darkness :  Herder's  various  chapters  on 
Persepolis  and  P>abylon,  on  the  Hebrews  and  Egyp^ 
tians,  form  a  delightful  kind  of  reading ;  it  seems  as 
if  we  v/ere  walking  in  the  midst  of  the  old  world  vvitli 
an  historical  poet,  who  touches  the  ruins  with  his 
wand,  and  erects  anew  before  our  eyes,  all  the  fallen 
edifices. 

In  Germany,  so  extensive  a  degree  of  information 
is  expected  even  from  men  of  the  greatest  genius,  that 
some  critics  have  accused  Herder  of  not  possessing  a 
sufficient  depth  of  learning.  But  what  strikes  us,  on 
the  contrary,  is  the  variety  of  his  knowledge :  all  liie.- 


83 


languages  Avere  familiar  to  him,  and  his  "  Essay  on 
«  the  poetry  of  the  Hebrews,"  is  the  work  in  which' 
we  most  readily  discover  how  far  he  could  adopt  the 
spirit  of  foreign  nations.  The  genius  of  a  prophetic 
people,  with  whom  poetical  inspiration  was  an  emana- 
tion from  the  Deity,  was  never  better  expressed.  The 
■wandering  life  of  that  nation,  the  manners  of  its  peo- 
ple, the  thoughts  of  which  they  were  capable,  the  im- 
agery habitual  to  it,  are  ail  pointed  out  by  Herder  with 
great  sagacity.  By  the  help  of  the  most  ingenious 
combinations,  he  endeavours  to  give  us  an  idea  of  the 
symmetry  of  Hebrew  versification,  of  that  return  of 
the  same  sentiment  and  of  the  same  image  in  differ- 
ent term.s  of  which  every  stanza  offers  us  an  example. 
Sometimes  he  compares  this  striking  regularity  to 
two  rows  of  pearls  which  surround  the  hair  of  a  beau- 
tiful woman.  "  Art  and  nature,"  says  he,  "  throup-h 
all  their  varieties,  still  preserve  an  astonishing  uni- 
^'  formity.''  Unless  we  were  able  to  read  the  Hebrew 
Psalma^  in  the  original  language,  it  is  impossible 
t®  acquire  a  better  idea  of  the  charm  with  which  they 
are  accompanied,  than  by  wliat  Herder  says  of  them. 
His  imagination  was  straitened  in  the  countries  of  the 
west ;  he  delighted  in  breathing  the  perfuines  of  Asia 
and  in  transfusing  into  his  works  the  pure  incense 
wnich  his  soui  had  collected.— It  was  he  who  first 
made  Spanish  and  Portuguese  p(;etry  known  in  Ger- 
many ;  the  translations  of  W.  Schlegei  have  since 
naturalized  them.  Herder  pubiished  a  coliection  en- 
titled "  Popular  S  ngs."  It  contaiL.s  ballads  and  de- 
tached pieces,  on  which  the  national  chasacter  and  im- 
agination of  the  peopie  are  strongly  impressed.  We 
may  study  in  them  that  natural  poetry  wnicii  precedes 
cultivation.  Cultivated  literr.ture  becomes  so  speedily 
lactitious,  that  it  is  good,  n^.w  and  then,  to  have  re- 
course to  the  orighi  oi"  all  poetrv,  that  is  to  say,  to  the 
in  pression  made  by  natur  e  on  man  before  he  had  ana- 
lysed-both  .he  universe  and  iumseif.  The  fiexibiiity  of 
the  German  language  alone,  perhaps,  admits  a  trans- 
lation ct  those  naivetes  p-euliar  lo  that  of  diflerent 
countries  wuiiouc  whicJn  we  cannot  enter  inio  tiie  spirit 


^4  OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  AR'JS. 


of  popular  poetry;  the  words  in  those  poems  have  iii 
themselves  a  certain  grace,  which  affects  us  like  a 
flower  we  have  before  seen,  like  an  air  that  we  have 
heard  in  our  childhood :  these  peculiar  impressions 
contain  not  only  the  secrets  of  the  art,  but  those  of  th-e 
soul,  from  v/hich  art  originally  derived  them.  The 
Germans  in  literaiure,  analyse  their  sensations  to  the 
very  utmost,  even  to  those  delicate  shades  which  no 
language  can  convey  to  our  ideas;  and  we  may  re- 
proach them  with  attaching  themselves  too  much,  in 
every  respect,  to  the  endeavour  of  making  us  compre- 
hend what  can  never  be  expressed. 

I  shall  speak,  in  the  fourth  part  of  this  work,  of  Her- 
der's tlieoiogical  writings ;  history  and  literature  a  e  ' 
often  found  united  in  them.  A  man  of  so  sincere  a 
heart  as  Herder  must  naturally  mingle  religion  with 
•all  Ins  thougl;ts  and  aii  his  thoughts  with  religion.  It 
has  been  said,  that  his  writings  resemble  an  animated 
conversation  :  it  is  true  that  he  has  not  made  use  of 
that  methodical  form  in  his  works,  which  is  given  to 
books  in  general.  It  was  under  the  porticos,  and  in 
the  gardens  of  the  Academy,  that  Plato  explained  to 
his  disciples  the  system  of  the  intellectual  world.  We 
find  in  Herdei  that  noblenegligence  of  genius  ever  im- 
patient to  acquire  new  ideas.  What  we  call  a  well 
made  book  is  a  modern  invention.  The  discovery  of 
the  art  of  printing  has  rendered  all  the  apparatus  of 
logic,  divisions,  recapitulations.  Sec.  necessary  to  us. 
The  greatest  tmrnber  of  ancient  W{)rks  of  philosophy, 
are  treatises  or  dialogues,  which  we  consider  as  wi  it- 
ten  conversations.  Montaigne  also,  gave  himself  up  , 
to  the  natural  course  of  his  thoughts  To  be  allowed 
such  a  privilege,  however,  we  should  possess  a  deci- 
ded superiority  of  intellect.  Order  supplies  the  want 
of  that  superiority  ;  for  if  mediocrity  were  thus  to  de- 
viate ai  random,  we  shouid  commonly  be  brought  back 
to  the  pomtfrom  wdiich  we  begun,  with  the  fatigue  of 
having- taken  many  a  vy^arisome  step;  but  a  man  of  _ 
genius  interests  us  the  more,  by  shewhig  himself  as 
he  is,  and  by  n^aking  his  books  appear  rather  as  ex- 
temporaneous effusions  Uim  laboured  composUi9ns. 

i 


HERBEE. 


85 


Herder  possessed,  it  is  said,  admirable  powers  of 
conversation,  and  from  his  writings  we  are  sensible 
that  it  must  have  been  so.  We  also  perceive  from 
them,  what  indeed  all  his  friends  attest  the  truth  of, 
that  there  never  was  a  better  man.  When  literary 
genius  inspires  those  who  do  not  know  us,  with  a  dis- 
position to  love  us,  it  is  that  gift  of  heaven  from  whicli 
<3n  earth  we  gather  the  most  delightful  fruit. 


tOL»  11.. 


H 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS^ 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

.  Of  the  Literary  Treasures  of  Germany^  and  of  it@ 
most  renonvned  Critics^  A,  W.  and  F.  SchlegeL 


In  the  picture  which  I  have,  now  p;iven  of  German 
literature,  I  have  endeavoured  to  point  out  the  prin- 
cipal works  ;  but  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit  naming 
a  t>;^at  number  of  men,  whose  writings,  being  less 
known,  conduce  mor  to  the  instruction  of  those  wno 
read  tnem,  tha«  to  the  reputation  of  the  authors 
themselves. 

Treatises  on  the  fine  arts,  works  of  erudition  and  phi- 
losophy, though  they  do  not  immediately  beiong  to  lit- 
erature, must  however  be  counted  amongst  its  treas- 
ures. There  is  in  Germany  a  fund  of  ideas  and  knowl- 
edge, which  the  other  nations  of  Europe  will  not  for 
a  long  time  be  able  to  exhaust. 

The  poetical  genius,  if  Keaven  ever  restores  it  to 
us,  may  also  receive  a  happy  impulse  from  the  love  of 
nature,  of  arts  and  philosophy  which  is  kindled  in  the 
countries  of  Germany  ;  but  at  least,  I  dare  afiirm,  that 
any  man  who  now  wishes  to  devote  himself  to  a  se- 
rious work  of  whatever  sort,  whether  history,  philos- 
ophy, or  antiquities,  cannot  excuse  himseif  from  be- 
coming acquainted  v/ith  the  German  %vriters,  who 
have  been  occupied  with  the  study  of  those  subjects. 

France  may  boast  oi  a  great  number  of  learned  men 
of  the  first  rank,  but  they  have  seldom  united  knowl- 
edge and  political  sagacity,  while  in  Germany,  they 
are  now  almost,  inseparable.  Those  who  plead  in  fa- 
vour of  ignorance,  as  a  pledge  of  grace,  mention 
many  very  sensible  men  who  have  had  no  instruction  ; 
but  they  forget  that  those  men  have  deeply  studied  the 
human  heart,  such  as  it  shews  itself  in  the  world,  and 


OF  GERMAN  CRITICS,  &c. 


87 


that  their  ideas  are  derived  from  that  source.  B  ut  if 
those  men,  learned  in  society,  would  judge  of  litera- 
ture without  being  acquainted  with  it,  they  would  be 
as  tiresome  as  citizens  are  when  they  talk  of  the 
court. 

When  I  began  the  study  of  German  literature,  it 
seemed  as  if  I  was  entering  on  a  nev/  sphere,  where 
the  most  striking  light  was  thrown  on  all  that  I  had  be- 
fore perceived  only  in  a  confused  manner.  For  some 
tiine  past,  little  has  been  read  in  France  except  me- 
moirs and  novels,  and  it  is  not  wholly  from  frivolity,  that 
we  are  becom.e  less  capable  of  more  serious  reading, 
but  because  the  events  of  the  revolution  have  acpus- 
tomed  us  to  value  nothing  but  the  knowledge  of  men 
and  things ;  we  find  in  German  books,  even  on  the 
most  abstract  subjects,  that  kind  of  interest  which 
confers  tlieir  value  upon  good  novels,  and  which  is 
excited  by  the  knowledge  which  they  teach  us  of  our 
own  hearts.  The  peculiar  character  of  German  litera- 
ture, is  to  refer  every  thing  to  an  interior  existence  ; 
and  as  that  is  the  mystery  of  mysteries,  it  awakens  an 
unbounded  curiosity. 

Before  we  proceed  to  philosophy,  which  always 
makes  a  part  of  learning  in  countries  where  the  em- 
pire of  literature  is  free  and  powerful,  I  will  say  a  few 
words  on  what  may  be  considered  as  the  legislation  of 
that  empire,  I  mean  criticism.  There  is  no  branch 
of  German  literature  v/hich  has  been  carried  to  a 
greater  extent,  and  as  in  certain  cities  there  are  more 
physiciaiis  than  sick  people,  there  are  sometimes  in 
G-o  many  more  critics  than  auti^ors  ;  but  the  analyses 
of  Lessing;,  who  was  the  creator  of  style  in  German 
prose,  are  made  in  such  a  manner,  that  they  may 
,  tliemselves  be  considered  as  works. 

Kant,  Goethe,  J.  de  Mliller,  the  greatest  Gern^an 
writers  of  every  various  kind,  have  inserted  in  the 
periodical  pieces,  what  they  call  recensions  of  diiier-- 
eat  piibiicatioi:S,  and  these  7'ece?isions  contain  the  most 
profound  philosopliical  theory,  and  positive  knowledge. 
AiaousSt  the  younger  writers,  Schiller  and  the  two 
Schiegeis  nave  suev/u  themselves  very  superior  to  ail 


f8 


OP  LJtERATURE  AND  TIIE  ARTS. 


Other  critics.  Schiller  is  the  first  amon.^  the  dlsciplei 
of  Kant,  who  applied  his  philosophy  to  literature  ;  and 
indeed,  to  judge  from  the  soul,  of  exterior  objects,  or 
from  exterior  objects  to  know  what  passes  in  the  soul> 
is  so  different  a  progress,  that  all  connected  with 
either^  must  be  sensible  of  it.  Schiller  has  written 
two  treatises,  "  on  the  naif  and  the  sentimental,"  in 
"which,  genius  unconscious  of  its  own  powers,  and  gen- 
ius which  is  self-observant,  are  analysed  with  great 
«ai»aclty ;  but  in  his  Essay  on  Grace  and  Dignity,*"' 
xmd  in  his  letters  on  the  JEsihetic^  that  is  to  say,  the 
theory  of  the  beautiful,  there  is  too  much  of  metaphys- 
ics. When  we  mean  to  speak  of  that  enjoyment  of 
the  arts  of  which  all  men  are  susceptible,  we  should 
dwell  on  the  impressions  they  have  received,  instead 
of  permitting  the  use  of  abstract  forms,  which  make  us 
Jiose  the  trace  of  those  impressions.  Schiller  was  a  man 
£>f  literature  by  his  genius,  and  a  philosopher  by  his  in- 
clination to  reflection  ;  his  prose  writings  border  on  the 
confines  of  the  two  regions  ;  but  he  often  treads  a  lit- 
tle forward  on  the  highest,  and  returning  incessantly 
to  what  is  more  abstract  in  theory,  he  disdains  the  ap- 
jplication  as  a  useless  consequence  of  the  principles 
he  has  laid  down. 

Animated  desc?-iptions  of  the  chefs-d'cEUvre  of  liter- 
ature give  much  more  interest  to  criticism  than  gen-* 
eral  ideas  which  skim  over  all  subjects  without  char* 
acterizing  any.  Metaphysics  may  be  termed  the  sci» 
ence  of  what  is  immutable  ;  but  all  that  is  subjected 
Xo  the  course  of  time,  is  explained  only  by  the  mix- 
ture of  facts  and  refiecnons :  the  Germans  would 
iittain  complete  theories,  independent  of  circumstan- 
ces, on  all  subjects;  but  as  that  is  impossible,  we 
must  not  give  up  facts  from  a  fear  lest  they  should  cir^ 
Gumscribe  ideas  ;  and  examples  alone  in  theory,  as 
well  as  in  practice,  engrave  precepts  deeply  in  the 
jmemory. 

The  quintessence  of  thoughts  which  some  German 
works  present  to  us,  does  not  like  that  of  flowers,  con- 
centrate the  most  odoriferous  perfumes;  on  the  cou- 
f  rary;  we  may  say  with  greater  truth,  that  it  is  only  a  cold 


B9 


remnant  of  emotions  that  were  full  of  life.  We  might, 
however,  extract  from  those  works  a  multitude  of  very 
interesting  observations  ;  but  they  are  confounded  with 
each  other.  The  author^  by  great  exertion  of  mind 
leads  his  readers  to  that  point  v/here  his  ideas  are  too 
line  and  delicate  for  him  to  attempt  transmitting  them 
to  others. 

The  writings  of  A.  W.  Schlegel  are  less  abstracted 
than  those  of  Schiller ;  as  his  knowledge  of  literature 
is  uncommon  even  in  Germany,  he  is  led  continually 
to  application  by  the  pleasure  which  he  finds  in  com- 
paring different  languages  and  different  poems  with 
each  other  ;  so  general  a  point  of  view  ought  almost 
to  be  considered  as  infallible,  if  partiality  did  not  some- 
times impair  it ;  but  this  partiality  is  not  of  an  arbiti-ary 
kind,  and  I  v/ill  point  out  both  the  progress  and  aim  of 
it ;  nevertheless  as  there  are  subjects  in  which  it  is  not 
perceived,  il  is  of  those  that  I  shall  first  speak. 

W.  Schlegel  has  given  a  course  of  dramatic  litera- 
ture at  Vienna  which  comprizes  every  thing  remarka- 
ble that  has  been  comp<(sed  for  the  theatre  from  the 
tiine  of  the  Grecians  to  our  own  days;  it  is  not  a  bar- 
ren nomenclature  of  the  works  of  the  various  authors, 
he  seizes  the  spirit  of  their  different  sorts  of  litera- 
ture, with  all  the  imagination  of  a  [>oet  ;  we  are  sensi- 
ble that  to  produce  such  consequences  extraordinary 
studies  are  required  ;  but  learning  is  not  perceived  in 
this  work  except  by  his  perfect  knouiedge  of  the  chefs- 
d'cKuvre  of  composition.  In  a  few  pages  we  reap  the 
fruit  of  the  labour  of  a  whole  liie  ;  every  opinion  form- 
ed by  the  autiior,  every  epithet  given  to  the  writers  of 
whom  he  speaks,  is  beautiful  and  just,  concise  and 
animated.  W .  Schlegel  has  found  the  art  of  treati;,g 
the  finest  pieces  of  poetry  as  so  many  wonders  of  na- 
ture, and  of  painting  them  in  lively  colours  which  do 
not  mjure  tne  justness  of  the  outline  ;  for  we  canriot 
repeat  too  often,  that  imagination,,  far  from  being  an 
enemy  to  truth,  brings  it  forward  more  than  aiiy  other 
faculty  of  the  mind,  and  ail  those  who  depend  upi.-n  it 
as  an  ex-,  use  for  indefinite  terms  or  exaggerated  expres- 
sions, are  at  least  destitute  of  poetry  as  of  ^ood  sense, 

YOL.  li.  H  3 


^0 


OF  LI-f^ERATUl^E  ANB  TIIE  ARTS. 


An  analysis  of  the  principles  on  which  both  tragedy 
and  comedy  are  founded,  is  treated  in  W.  Schlegel's 
course  of  dramatic  literature  with  much  depth  of  phi- 
losophy ;  this  kind  of  merit  is  often  found  among  the 
German  writers  ;  but  Schiegcl  has  no  equal  in  the  art 
of  inspiring  his  own  adnjiration  ;  in  general  he  shews 
himself  attached  to  a  simple  taste,  sometimes  border- 
ing on  rusticity,  but  he  deviates  from  his  usual  opin- 
ions in  favour  of  the  opinions  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
south.  Their  jeux  cle  mots  and  their  concetti  are  not 
the  objects  of  his  censure;  he  detests  the  afTectation 
■which  owes  its  existence  to  the  spirit  of  society,  but 
that  which  is  excited  by  the  luxury  of  imagination 
pleases  him  in  poetry  as  the  profusion  of  colours  and 
perfumes  would  do  in  nature.  Schlegel,  after  having 
acquired  a  great  reputation  by  his  translation  of  Shaks- 
peare,  became  equally  enamoured  of  Calderon,  but 
Avith  a  very  different  sort  of  attachment  to  that  with 
■which  Shakspeare  had  inspired  him  ;  for  while  the 
English  author  is  deep  and  gloomy  in  his  knowledge 
©f  the  human  heart,  the  Spanish  poet  gives  himself  up 
-with  pleasure  and  delight  to  the  beauty  of  life,  to  the 
sincerity  of  faith,  and  to  all  the  brilliancy  of  those  vir- 
tues which  derive  their  colouring  from  the  sunshine  of 
4:he  soul. 

I  was  at  Vienna  when  W.  Schlegel  gave  his  public 
course  of  lectures.  I  expected  only  good  sense  and 
instruction  where  the  object  was  only  to  convey  infor- 
mation ;  I  was  astonished  to  hear  a  critic  as  eloquent 
as  an  orator,  and  who  far  from  falling  upon  defects 
"which  are  the  eternal  food  of  mean  and  little  jealousy, 
sought  only  the  means  of  reviving  a  creative  genius. 

Spanish  literature  is  but  little  known,  and  it  was  the 
subject  of  one  of  the  finest  passages  delivered  during 
the  sitting  at  which  I  attended.  W.  Schlegel  gave  us 
a  picture  of  that  chivalrous  nation,  whose  poets  were 
all  warriors,  and  whose  warriors  were  poeis.  He 
mentioned  that  count  Ercilia,  "  v/ho  composed  his 
poem  of  the  Araucana  in  a  tent,  as  now  on  the  shores 
q{  the  ocean,  now  at  the  foot  of  the  Cordilleras  while 
he  p:\ade  war  on  ;he  r^voU€4  Ssiyages.  QarcilassQ^ 


OP  GERMAN  CRITICS,  Sic.  9  1 

©ne  of  the  descendants  of  the  Incas,  wrote  poems  on 
love  on  the  ruins  of  Carthaj^e,  and  perished  at  the 
sieg'e  of  Tunis.  Cervantes  was  dangerously  wounded 
at  the  battle  of  Lepanto  ;  Lope  de  Vega  escaped  by 
miracle  at  the  defeat  of  the  invincibie  armada ;  and 
Calderon  served  as  an  intrepid  soldier  in  the  wars  of 
Flanders  and  Italy." 

Religion  and  war  were  more  frequently  united 
amongst  the  Spaniards  than  in  any  other  nation  ;  it  was 
they,  v/ho,  by  perpetual  combats  drove  out  the  Moors 
from  the  bosom  of  their  country,  ami  who  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  van-guard  of  European  Christendom  ; 
they  conquered  their  churches  from  the  Arabians,  an 
act  of  their  v/orship  was  a  trophy  for  their  arms,  and  their 
triumphant  religion,  sometimes  carried  to  fanaticism, 
was  allied  to  the  sentiment  of  honour,  and  gave  to 
their  character  an  impressive  dignity.  That  gravity 
tinctured  with  imagination,  even  that  gaiety  which  loses 
nothing  of  what  is  serious  in  the  warmest  affections, 
shows  itself  in  Spanish  literature,  which  is  vvholly 
composed  of  "  fictions  and  of  poetry,  of  which  reli- 
"  gion,  love,  and  warlike  exploits  are  constantly  the 

object.  It  might  be  said,  that  when  the  new  world 
"  was  discovered,  the  treasures  of  another  hemisphere 
"  contributed  to  enrich  the  imagination  as  much  as  the 
"  taste  ;  and  that  in  the  empire  of  poetry  as  well  as  in 

that  of  Charles  V.  the  sun  never  ceased  to  enlighten 
"  the  horizon." 

All  who  heard  W.  Schlegel,  were  much  struck 
with  this  picture,  and  the  German  language,  which  he 
spoke  with  elegance,  added  depth  of  thought  and  af- 
fecting expression  to  those  high-sounding  Spanish 
names,  which  can  never  be  pronounced  without  pre- 
senting to  our  imaginations  the  orange  trees  of  the 
kingdom  of  Grenada  and  the  palaces  of  its  Moorish 
sovereigns.* 

*  William  Schlegel,  whom  I  hear  mention  as  the  first  literary 
critic  of  Germany,  is  the  author  of  a  French  p.-.mplilet  lately 
published  under  the  title  of  "Reflections  on  the  Continental 
System."  This  same  W.  Schlegel  printed  a  few  years  ago  at 
Pa?)'^.  ^  comparison  hetvre^a  the  J?h?sdra  of  Euripides  and  thttt 


92        OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


We  may  compare  W.  Scblegel's  manner  of  speak- 
ing of  poetry,  to  that  of  Winkelmann  in  describing 
statues  ;  and  it  is  only  by  siich  a  method  of  estimating 
talents,  that  it  is  honorable  to  be  a  critic  :  every  artist 
or  professional  man  can  point  out  faults  and  inaccuracies 
which  ought  to  be  avoided,  but  the  ability  to  discover 
genius  and  to  admire  it,  is  almost  equal  to  the  posses- 
sion of  genius  itself. 

Frederic  Schlegel  being  much  engaged  in  philo- 
sophical pursuits,  devoted  himself  less  exclusively  to 
literature  than  his  brother  ;  yet  the  piece  he  wrote  on 
the  intellectual  culture  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
contains  in  small  compass  perceptions  and  conclusions 
of  the  first  order.  F.  Schlegel  has  more  originality 
of  genius  than  almost  any  other  celebrated  man  in 
Germany  ;  but  far  from  depending  on  that  originality, 
though  it  promised  him  much  success,  he  endeavour- 
ed to  assist  it  by  extensive  study.  It  is  a  great  proof 
of  our  respect  for  the  human  species,  when  we  dare 
not  address  it  from  the  suggestions  of  our  own  minds 
without  having  first  conscientiously  examined  into  all 
that  has  been  left  to  us  by  our  predecessors  as  an  in- 
heritance. The  Germans  in  those  acquired  treasures 
ol  the  human  mind,  are  true  proprietors:  those  who 
depend  on  their  own  natural  understandings  alone,  are 
mere  sojourners  in  comparison  with  them. 

After  having  done  justice  to  the  uncommon  talents  of 
the  two  Schlegeis,  we  wiii  now  examine  in  what  that 
paniality  consists  of  which  they  are  accused,  and  from 
which  it  is  certain  all  their  writings  are  not  exempt. 
They  are  evidently  prepossessed  in  favour  of  the  mid- 
dle ages,  and  the  opinions  that  were  then  prevalent ; 
chivalry  witiiout  spot,  unbounded  faith,  and  unstudied 
poetry^  a;  pear  to  them  inseparable  ;  and  they  apply 
themselves  to  all  that  may  enable  them  to  direct  the 
Blinds  and  Uiiderstandings  of  others  to  the  same  pref- 
erence.    W.  tochlegel  expresses  his  admiration  for 

of  Racine  :  it  made  a  great  noise  among  the  literary  people  of 
that  piuce  ;  but  no  one  covild  deny  that  W.  Schlegel,  diougli  a 
German,  wrote  French  well  enough  to  be  fully  competent  to 
the  tusk  of  cntxciZing  Kacme. 


OP  GBRMAX  CRITICS,  &c. 


the  middle  ages  in  several  of  his  writings,  and  partic-* 
ularly  in  two  stanzas  of  which  I  will  now  give  a  trans- 
lation. 

"  In  those  distinguished  ages  Europe  was  sole 
"  and  undivided,  and  the  soil  of  that  universal  country 
"  was  fruitful  in  those  generous  thoughts  W'hich  are 
"  calculated  to  serve  as  guides  through  life  and  in 
"  death.  Knighthood  converted  combatants  intobreth- 
"  ren  in  arms:  they  fought  in  defence  of  the  same 
"  faith ;  the  same  love  inspired  all  hearts,  and  the 
f  poetry  \\hich  sung  that  alliance,  expressed  the  same 
"  sentiment  in  different  languages.'* 

"  Alas  !  the  noble  energy  of  ancient  times  is  lost : 
our  age  is  the  inventor  of  a  uarrow-minded  wisdom, 
*'  and  v/hat  weak  men  have  no  ability  to  conceive  is  in 
«  their  eyes  only  a  chimera ;  surely  nothing  truly  great 
"  can  succeed  if  undertaken  with  a  grovelling  heart. 
"  Our  times,  a'as  !  no  longer  know  either  faith  or  love ; 
"  how  then  can  hope  be  expected  to  remain  v/ith 
«  them." 

Opinions,  whose  tendency  is  so  strongly  marked, 
must  necessarily  affect  impartiality  of  judgment  on 
works  of  art;  without  doubt,  as  I  have  continually  re- 
peated during  the  whole  course  of  this  work,  it  is 
much  to  be  desired  that  modern  literature  should  be 
founded  on  our  history  and  our  religion :  it  does  not 
however  follow  that  the  literary  productions  of  the 
middle  ages  should  be  considered  as  absolutely  good. 
The  energetic  simplicity,  the  pure  and  loyal  character 
v/hich  is  displayed  in  them  interests  us  warmly ;  but 
in  the  other  hand,  the  knowledge  of  antiquity  and  the 
progress  of  civilization  have  given  us  advantages  which 
are  not  to  be  despised.  The  object  is  not  to  trace  back 
the  arts  to  remote  times,  but  to  unite  as  much  as  we 
can,  all  the  various  qualities  which  have  been  develop- 
ed in  the  human  mind  at  different  periods. 

The  Schlegeis  have  been  strongly  accused  of  not 
doing  justice  to  French  literature,  there  are  however 
no. writers  v/ho  have  spoken  with  more  enthusiasm  of 
the  genius  of  our  troubadours,  and  of  that  French 
cjiivairy  which  was  unequaJied  in  Europe,  when  it 


94 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


united  in  the  his^hest  degree,  spirit  and  loyalty,  grace 
and  frankness,  courage,  and  gaiety,  the  most  affecting 
simplicity  with  the  most  ingenuous  candour  ;  but  the 
German  critics  affirm  that  those  distinguished  traits  of 
the  French  character  were  effaced  during  the  course  of 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV ;  literature,  they  say,  in  ages 
\vhich  are  called  classical,  loses  in  originality  what  it 
gains  in  correctness ;  they  have  attacked  our  poets, 
particularly  in  various  ways,  and  with  great  strength 
of  argument.  The  general  spirit  of  those  ^  .'itics  is 
the  same  with  that  of  Rousseau  in  his  letter  against 
French  music.  They  think  they  discover  in  many  cf 
our  tragedies,  that  kind  of  pompous  affectation,  of 
which  Rousseau  accuses  Lully  and  Rair.sau,  and  they 
affjm  that  the  same  taste  which  gives  the  preference 
to  Coypel  and  Boucher  in  painting,  and  to  the  Cheva- 
lier Bernini  in  sculpture,  forbids  in  poetry  that  raptur- 
ous ardour  which  alone  renders  'i  r.  divine  enjoyment; 
in  short,  they  are  tempted  to  apply  to  our  manner  of 
conceiving  and  of  loving  the  fine  arts,  the  verses  so 
frequently  quoted  from  Corneilie  ; 

"  Othon  a  la  princesse  a  fait  un  compliment, 

"  Plus  en  homme  d  esprit  qu'e:  veritable  amant.*' 

W.  Schlegel  pays  due  homage  however  to  most  of 
our  great  authors;  but  what  he  chiefly  endeavours  to 
prove,  is,  that  from  the  middle  of  the  1 7th  century,  a 
constrained  and  affected  manner  has  prevailed  through- 
out Europe,  and  that  this  prevalence  has  made  us 
lose  those  bold  flights  of  genius  which  animated  both 
writers  and  artists  in  the  revival  of  literature.  In  the 
pictures  and  bas-reliefs  where  Louis  XIV.  is  some- 
ti.nes  represented  as  Jupiter,  and  sometimes  as  Her- 
cules, he  is  naked,  or  clothed  only  with  the  skin  of  a 
lion,  but  always  with  a  great  wig  on  his  head.  The 
writers  of  the  new  school  tell  us  tnat  this  great  wig 
may  be  applied  to  the  physiognomy  of  the  fine  arts  in  the 
17th  ceutuiy:  an  affVcted  sort  of  po  iteness,  deiived 
from  factitious  greatness,  is  always  to  be  discovert^d 
in  them. 


or  GERMAN  CRITICS,  &c. 


95 


It  is  interesting  to  examine  the  subject  in  this  point 
of  view,  in  spite  of  the  irinumerable  objections  which 
may  be  opposed  to  it ;  it  is  however  certain  that  these 
German  critics  have  succeeded  in  the  object  aimed  at, 
as,  of  all  writers  since  Lessing,  they  have  most  essen- 
tially contributed  to  discredit  the  imitation  of  French 
literature  in  Germany  ;  but  from  the  fear  of  adopting 
Prench  taste,  they  have  not  sufficiently  improved  that 
of  their  own  country,  and  have  often  rejected  just  and 
striking  observations,  merely  because  they  had  before 
been  made  by  our  writers. 

They  know  not  how  to  make  a  book  in  Germany, 
i  and  scarcely  ever  adopt  that  methodical  order  which 
classes  ideas  in  the  juind  of  the  reader;  it  is  not  there- 
foi-e  because  the  French  are  impatient,  but  because 
their  jucigment  is  just  ai  d  accurate,  that  this  defect  is 
i  so  tiresome  to  them  ;  in  German  poetry  fictions  are 
i  FiOt  delineated  with  tnose  strong  and  precise  ouiiir-.cs 
li  which  ensure  the  effect,  and  the  uncertaiijty  of  the  im- 
!;  agination  corresponds  to  the  obscurity  of  the  tnoUj.,nt. 
!  Li  short,  if  taste  be  found  wanting  in  those  strange  and 
;  vui.^ar  pleasantries  which  c  nsiitute  what  is  called 
I  co?nic  in  some  of  their  works,  it  is  not  because  tliey 
I  are  natural,  but  because  the  aftectation  of  energy  is  at 
least  as  riciicuious  as  that  of  gracefulness.     "  I  am 
myseif  lively,"  said  a  German  as  he  jum.ped 
out  of  window  :  when  we  attempt  to  make  ourselves 
any  thing,  we  are  nothir-g  :  v/e  snould  r.ave  recourse  to 
the  good  taste  of  the  French  to  secure  us  from  the 
excessive  exaggeiation  of  some  German  authors,  as 
on  the  other  hand  we  shouia  app.y  to  the  solidity  and 
depth  of  the  Germans  to  guarci  us  irom  the  dogmatic 
fiivoiity  of  some  inaividuais  amongst  the  men  of  lit- 
erature in  France. 

Different  nations  ought  to  serve  as  guides  to  eacli 
other,  and  all  wouid  do  v/rong  to  deprive  themselves 
01  the  information  they  may  mutually  receive  and  ira- 
p  irt.  Tiiere  is  something  very  singular  in  the  differ- 
ence Vv'hich  subsists  between  nations  :  the  climate,  the 
aspect  of  nature,  the  language,  the  goverrmient,  and 
above  ail  the  events  of  nistory  which  have  in  them- 


§6  OP  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


selves  powers  more  extraordinary  than  all  the  otheus 
united,  all  combine  to  produce  those  diversities  ;  and 
no  man,  how  superior  soever  he  may  be,  can  guess 
at  that  which  is  naturally  developed  in  the  mind  of  him 
who  inhabits  another  soil  and  breathes  another  air  ;  we 
should  do  well  then  in  all  foreign  countries,  to  wel- 
come foreign  thoughts  and  foreign  sentiments,  for 
hospitality  of  this  sort  makes  the  fortune  of  him  who 
exercises  it. 


OF  THE  FINE  ARTS  IN  GERMANY.  97 


CHAPTER  XXXir. 
Of  the  Fine  Arts  in  Germamj^. 


T^IIE  Germans  in  general  understand  toe  arts  better 
than  they  practise  them  ;  no  sooner  is  an  impression 
made  on  their  minds,  than  they  draw  from  ii  a  number 
of  ideas.  They  boast  much  of  mystery,  but  it  is  with 
the  purpose  of  revealing  it,  and  no  sort  of  originality 
can  be  shewn  in  Germany  without  exciting  a  general 
endeavour  to  explain  from  whence  it  is  derived  ;  this  is 
a  great  disadvantage,  particularly  with  respect  to  the 
arts,  where  ail  is  sensation  ;  they  are  analyzed  before 
this  inspiration  is  felt,  and  it  is  in  vain  afterwards  to 
say,  it  was  wrong  to  analyze  them,  must  denounce 
the  practice,  for  we  have  tasted  the  fruit  of  the  tree 
^of  knowledge,  and  the  innocence  of  genius  is  lost. 

I  certainly  do  not  recommend,  with  respect  to  the 
arts,  that  ignorance  which  I  have  always  condemned  in 
literature  ;  but  we  should  distinguish  the  studies  which 
relate  to  the  practice  of  the  arts,  from  those  whose  only 
object  is  the  theory  of  genius ;  these  carried  too  far, 
stifle  invention  ;  we  are  perplexed  by  the  recollection  of 
all  that  has  been  said  on  the  subject  of  every  different 
chef-d'ceuvre,  and  think  we  perceive  between  our- 
selves and  the  object  we  mean  to  describe,  a  number 
of  treatises  on  painting  and  sculpture,  on  the  ideal  and 
the  real,  till  as  artists  we  feel  that  we  are  no  longer  in 
immediate  communion  with  nature.  Without  doubt  the 
spirit  of  those  various  treatises  is  encouragement ;  but 
genius  is  wearied  by  being  brought  too  forward,  as  on 
the  other  hand  it  is  extinguished  by  too  much  restraint ; 
and  in  all  that  relates  to  the  imagination,  there  is  requir- 
•ed  so  happy  a  combination  of  obstacles  and  facilities, 
that  ages  may  pass  away  before  we  arrive  exactly  at  the 

VOL.  II,  I 


OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


point  most  favourable  for  the  display  of  the  human 
min<\  in  its  highest  degree  of  perfection. 

Before  the  period  of  the  reformation,  the  Germans 
had  a  school  of  painting  which  that  of  Italy  would  not 
have  disdained.  Albeit  Durer,  Lucas  Cranach,  and 
H  ibein,  have  in  their  manner  of  painting  some  affin- 
ity with  the  predecessors  of  Raphael,  Perugino,  An- 
drea Mantegno,  &c.  Holbein  approaches  nearer  to 
Leonardo  da  Vinci;  there  is  however  in  general  more 
hardness  in  the  German  than  in  the  Italian  school,  but 
Hot  less  expression  and  coliectedness  in  the  counte- 
naiices.  The  painters  in  the  fifteenth  century  had  very 
little  knowledge  of  the  means  which  facilitate  the  prac- 
tice of  their  art,  but  simplicity  and  modesty  are  every 
"where  displayed  in  their  works;  we  see  in  them  no 
pretensions  to  grand  effect,  we  perceive  only  the  ex- 
pression of  that  strong  and  vivid  emotion,  for  which 
ail  men  of  genius  endeavour  to  find  a  language,  that 
they  may  not  leave  the  world  without  imparting  a  por- 
tion of  their  soul  to  their  contemporaries. 

In  the  paintings  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  cen- 
turies, the  folds  of  the  drapery  are  quite  straight,  the 
head-dresses  a  little  stiff,  the  attitudes  very  simple  ;  but 
there  is  something  in  the  expression  of  the  figures 
%vhich  we  are  never  tired  of  contemplating.  Tiie  pic- 
tures on  scriptural  subjects,  produce  an  impression 
like  that  which  we  feel  from  the  Psalms,  where  poetry 
and  piety  are  so  charmingly  united. 

The  second,  and  the  finest  epoch  of  the  art  of  paint- 
ing, was  that  in  which  the  painters  preserved  the  truth 
of  the  middle  ages,  and  added  to  it  all  the  more  re- 
cently acquired  splendour  of  the  art  :  nothing  among 
the  Germans  corresponds  to  the  age  of  Leo  X.  To- 
wards the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century,  on  to  the  mid- 
dle of  the  eighteenth,  the  fine  aits  almost  every  where 
fell  into  a  singular  decay  ;  taste  degenerated  into  af- 
fectation ;  Winckeln:ann  then  exerted  the  greatest  in- 
fluence not  only  over  his  own  country,  but  over  the 
rest  of  Europe ;  and  it  was  bis  writings  which  directed 
the  Hiinds  of  different  artists  to  the  study  and  admi- 
ration of  the  monuments  of  antiquity :  he  was  better 


OF  THE  FINE  ARTS  IN  GERMANY.  99 


skilled  in  sculpture  than  in  poetry  ;  and  he  therefore 
led  painters  into  the  practice  of  placing  coloured  stat- 
ues in  their  pictures,  rather  than  the  animated  forms 
of  living  nature.  Painting  also  lost  much  of  its  charni 
by  being  so  nearly  allied  to  sculpture  ;  the  illusion 
necessary  to  the  one  is  directly  contrary  to  the  im- 
moveable and  decided  forms  of  the  other.  When 
painters  take  their  models  exclusively  from  the  re- 
mains of  ancient  beauty,  as  it  is  only  in  statues  that  it 
can  be  discovered,  we  may  address  to  them  the  re- 
proach which  has  been  applied  to  modern  classical 
literature,  that  it  is  not  from  the  inspiration  of  their 
own  minds,  that  they  produce  the  effects  of  their  art. 

Mengs,  a  German  painter,  has  given  us  many  phi- 
losophical thoughts,  in  his  writings,  on  the  subject 
of  his  art :  he  was  the  friend  of  Winckeimann,  and 
partook  in  his  admiration  of  the  antique  ;  but  he  never- 
theless avoided  the  faults  for  which  the  paintere,  form- 
ed by  the  writings  of  Winckeimann,  have  generally 
been  censured,  and  wh^ch  are  mostly  confined  to  their 
copying  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  antiquity.  Mengs  had 
even  taken  Corre,^io  for  his  model,  wdiose  pictures,  of 
all  others,  are  the  farthest  removed  from  any  rcsem- 
'blance  to  sculpture,  and  whose  chiaro  scuro  recals  to 
our  minds  the  vague,  but  delightful  impressions  of 
melody. 

The  German  artists  had,  almost  all  of  them,  adopt- 
ed the  opinions  of  Winckeimann,  till  the  period  when 
the  new  literary  school  also  extended  its  influence  over 
the  fine  arts.  Goethe,  vvhose  universal  genius  meets 
lis  every  where,  has  shewn  in  his  writings,  th3.t  he  com.- 
prehends  the  true  spirit  of  painting  much  better  than 
Winckeimann  ;  nevertheless,  convinced  like  him,  that 
subjects  drawai  from  the  Christian  religion  are  not  fa- 
vourable to  the  art,  he  endeavours  to  revive  our  en- 
thusiasm for  ancient  mythology,  an  attempt  which  it 
is  impossible  to  succeed  in  ;  perhaps,  Vrith  respect  to 
the  fine  arts,  we  are  not  capable  of  being  either  Chris- 
tians or  Pagans  :  but  at  whatever  period  a  creative 
imagination  shall  again  spring  up  from  amongst  merr, 


100 


OF  LITERATURE  AXD  TRE  ARTS, 


'it  will  assuredly  not  be  in  an  imitation  of  the  ancientsj. 
that  its  effects  will  be  perceived. 

The  new  school  maintains  the  same  system  in  the  fine 
arts,  as  in  literature,  and  affirms  that  Christianity  is 
the  source  of  all  modern  genius  ;  the  writers  of  this 
school,  also  characterize,  in  a  new  m.anner,  ail  that  in 
Gothic  architecture  agrees  with  the  religious  senti- 
ments of  Christians.  It  does  not  follow  however  from 
this,  that  the  moderns  can  and  ought  to  construct  Gothic 
churches  ;  neither  art  nor  nature  admit  of  repetition  : 
it  is  only  of  consequence  to  us,  in  the  present  silence 
of  genius,  to  lay  aside  the  contempt  which  has  been 
thrown  on  all  the  conceptions  of  the  middle  ages  ;  it 
certainly  does  not  suit  us  to  adopt  them,  but  nothing  is. 
more  injurious  to  the  development  of  genius,  than  to 
consider  as  barbarous  every  thing  that  is  original.  ^ 

I  have  already  said  in  speaking  of  Germany,  that 
there  are  very  few  modern  buildings  which  are  at  all 
^^emarkable  ;  in  the  north,  v^e  see  nothing  in  general 
but  Gothic  edifices,  and  the  dispositions  of  soul  which 
they  tend  to  excite  are  encouraged  both  by  nature  and 
poetry.  Gorres,  a  German  writer,  has  given  an  inter- 
esting description'  of  an  ancient  church.  "  We  see," 
said  he,  "  figures  of  knights  kneeling  on  a  tomb-stonc 
4Mvilh  their  hands  joined  together;  above  them  are 

placed  some  wonderful  curiosities  from  Asia,  which 
"  aie  intended  to  attest,  as  so  many  dumb  vv'ltnesses,  the 

voy&ges  of  the  deceased  to  the  Holy  Land.    The  dark, 

arches  of  the  church  cover  those  vv'ho  rest  beneath 
"  them  with  their  shade  ;  we  might  almost  imagine  our- 
"  selves  in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  the  branches  and  leaves 
i'  of  which  have  been  petrified  by  death,  so  that  they  will 

no  longer  m©ve  or  be  agitated,  v/hen  succeeding 
*i  ages  like  the  midnight  storm  shall  roll  through  tiieir 

lengthened  vaults.  The  church  resounds  with  the 
^«  majestic  tones  of  the  organ  ;  inscriptions  in  letters 
i«  of  brass,  half  destroyed  by  the  humid  vapours  oi 
i'  time,  confusedly  indicate  those  great  actions  which 
^'  are  now  become  fabulous,  after  having  been  so  long 

considered  as  incontesiably  true;" 


OF  THE  FINE  ARTS  IX  GERMANY.  101 


In  speaking  of  the  arts  in  Germany,  we  are  led  to 
mention  writers  rather  than  artists.  The  Germans  are 
in  every  respect,  stronger  in  theory  than  in  practice, 
and  northern  climates  are  so  little  favourable  to  those 
arts  which  strike  our  eyes,  that  we  might  almost  be 
induced  to  think,  the  spirit  of  reflection  was  bestowed 
on  them  merely  because  their  inhabitants  should  be 
enabled  to  observe  and  appreciate  the  beauties  of  the 
south. 

There  are  many  galleries  of  pictures  and  collections 
of  drawings  in  Germany,  which  indicate  a  love  of  the 
arts  in  all  ranks  of  people.  In  the  houses  of  the  nobil- 
ity and  most  distinguished  men  of  literature,  there  are 
very  fine  copies  of  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  antiquity ; 
that  of  Goethe  is  remarkable  in  this  respect;  his  ob- 
ject is  not  merely  the  pleasure  which  is  felt  from  the 
sight  of  fine  statues  and  pictures,  he  thinks  both  the 
genius  and  the  soul  are  affected  by  it.  "  I  should  be  a 
*'  better  man,"  said  he,  "  if  I  had  always  under  my 
"  eyes  the  head  of  the  Olympian  Jupiter,  which  was 
"  so  much  ada^ired  by  the  ancients." — Several  distin- 
guished painters  have  established  themselves  at  Dres- 
den ;  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  which  adorn  the  Gallery  are 
the  objects  of  attraction,  and  excite  both  skill  and  em- 
ulation. The  virgin  of  Raphael  with  two  children  gaz- 
ing on  her,  is  in  itself  a  treasure  of  art:  there  is-  in 
this  figure  an  elevation  and  a  purity  which  is  the  per- 
fect ideal  of  religion  and  inward  fortitude.  The  sym- 
metry of  the  features  is  in  this  picture  only  a  symbol ; 
the  long  garments  as  an  expression  of  modesty,  ren- 

,der  the  countenance  still  more  interesting,  and  the 
physiognomy,  even  more  admirable  than  the  features, 
is  like  supreme  beauty  manifesting  itself  in  that  which 
is  terrestrial  The  Christ,  who  is  in  the  arms  of  his 
mother,  seems  at  most  about  two  years  of  age  ;  but 
the  painter  has  wonderfully  expressed  the  powerful, 
energy  of  the  divine  being,  in  a  countenance  as  yet 
scarcely  formed.    The  looks  of  the  angelic  children 

'  Who  are  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  picture,  are  de- 
lightful ;  the  innocence  of  tha^.  age,  alone,  can  appear 
ehaiming  by  the  side  of  celestial  candour  j  tiieiras^- 

VOL.  II.  I  2 


i  02        OF  LITEItATUPtE  AND  THE  AETS. 


tonishment  at  the  sight  of  the  Virgm,  beaming  with 
holiness  and  beauty,  does  not  resemble  the  surprise 
which  men  might  feel ;  they  appear  as  if  they  adored 
her  with  confidence,  because  they  acknowledge  in  her, 
an  inhabitant  of  that  heaven  from  which  they  had  just 
descended. 

The  Night  of  Corregio  is,  next  to  the  Virgin  of 
Raphael,  the  finest  chef-d'cEUvre  in  the  Dresden  Gal- 
lery.   The  adoration  of  the  shepherds  has  often  been 
"^vell  i^presented  ;  but  as  novelty  of  subject  goes  but  [ 
a  little  way  in  the  pleasure  we  receive  from  painting,  : 
it  is  sufficient  to  observe  the  manner  in  which  Corre-  , 
gio's  picture  is  conceived,  in  order  to  admire  it :  it  is 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  that  the  child  is  placed  on  : 
the  knees  of  its  motlier,  and  thai  it  receives  the  horn-  [ 
age  of  the  astonished  shepherds;  the  light  which 
beams  from  the  holy  aureola  with  which  his  head  is  ■ 
surrounded,  has  something  in  it  truly  sublime  ;  the 
personages  placed  in  the  back-ground  of  the  picture, 
and  far  from  the  divine  infant,  are  still  in  darkness  ;  an  | 
emblem  of  the  obscurity  with  which  human  life  was 
environed  before  it  was  enlightened  by  revelation. 

Amongst  the  various  pictures  of  modern  artists  at 
Dresden,  I  recollect  a  head  of  Dante,  v»^hich  in  char- 
'  acter  was  a  little  like  the  figure  of  Ossian  in  the  fine 
picture  of  Gerard.  This  analogy  is  a  happy  one. 
Dante  and  the  son  of  Fingal  may  take  each  other  by 
the  hand  through  successive  ages,  and  through  the 
clouds  that  hang  over  them. 

A  picture  of  Hartmann's,  represents  the  visit  of 
Magdalen,  and  the  tv/o  other  Mary's,  to  the  sepulchre 
of  Jesus  Christ;  the  angel  appears  to  announce  to 
them  that  he  is  risen  ;  the  open  tomb  which  no  longer  - 
encloses  any  mortal  remains,  and  those  women  of  ^ 
most  admirable  beauty  lilting  their  eyes  towards  hea-  ' 
yen  to  behold  him  whom  they  have  just  been  seeking  ' 
in  the  shades  of  the  sepulchre,  form  a  painting  at  once  ■ 
picturesque  and  dramatic. 

Schick,  another  German  artist,  now  settled  at  Ronie, 
has,  since  his  residence  in  that  place,  composed  a  pic- 
ture which  represents  the  first  sacrifice  of  Noah  after  ; 


OF  THE  FINE  ARTS  IN  GERMANY. 


103 


the  deluge  ;  nature,  revived  by  the  waters,  seems  to 
have  acquired  a  new  freshness  ;  the  aninials  appear  fa- 
i-niliarized  with  the  patriarch  and  his  children,  as  having 
escaped  together  from  the  flood.  The  verdure,  the 
flowers,  and  the  sky  are  painted  in  lively  and  natural 
colours,  which  recal  the  sensations  excited  by  the  land- 
scapes of  the  east.  Several  other  artists  endeavoured 
like  Schick,  to  follow  in  painting,  the  new  system  in- 
troduced or  rather  revived,  in  literary  poetry  ;  but  the 
arts  require  the  assistance  of  riches,  and  v/ealth  is  dis- 
persed through  the  different  cities  of  Germany  :  and 
besides  this,  the  greatest  progress  which  has  hitherto 
been  made  in  that  country,  results  from  properly  un- 
derstanding, and  copying  in  their  true  spirit,  the  v.  orks 
of  the  ancient  masters  :  original  genius  has  not  yet 
decidedly  displayed  itself. 

Sculpture  has  not  been  cultivated  vAih  much  suc- 
cess amongst  the  Germans  ;  in  the  tirst  place,  because 
tliey  want  the  marble  which  renders  the  chefs-d'oeuvre 
of  the  art  immortal,  and  also  because  they  have  no  just 
idea  of  that  delicacy  and  grace  of  attitude  and  gesture 
which  gymnastic  exercises  and  dancing  alone,  can  ren- 
der natural  and  easy  to  us  ;  nevertheless,  a  Dane,  Thor- 
waldsen,  educated  in  .Germany,  is  at  present  the  rival 
of  Canova  at  Rome,  and  his  Jason  resembles  that 
which  Pindar  describes  as  the  m-cdel  of  manly  beauty  j 
a  fieece  lies  on  his  left  arm  ;  he  holds  a  lance  in  his 
hand,  and  the  inactivity  of  strength  characterises  the 
hero,  I  have  already  said  that  sculpture  in  general  los- 
es, much  by  the  neglect  of  dancing  ;  the  d^ily  phenom- 
enon of  that  art  in  Germany  is  Ida  Brunn,  a  young 
girl  whose  situation  in  life  precludes  her  from  adopting 
it  as  a  profession  ;  she  has  received  from  nature  and 
from  her  m.other  a  wonderful  talent  of  representing,  by 
sim.ple  attitudes,  the  most  affecting  pictures,  or  the 
most  beautiful  statues  ;  her  dancing  is  a  course  of  tran- 
sient chefs-d'ouvre,  every  one  of  which  we  should  wish 
to  iix  for  ever  :  it  is  true  that  the  mother  of  Ida  had 
before  conceived  in  her  imagination  all  that  her  daugh- 
ter so  admirably  presents  to  our  eyes.  Tne  poetry  of 
INIadame  Brunn  displays  a  thousand  new  treasures. 


104         OF  UTERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


both  in  art  and  nature,  which,  from  inattention,  had" 
been  before  unnoticed. 

I  saw  the  young  Ida,  when  yet  a  child,  represent 
Althea  ready  to  burn  the  brand  on  which  the  life  of  her 
son,  Meleager,  depended ;  she  expressed  without 
words,  the  grief,  the  struggles,  the  terrible  resolu- 
tion of  the  mother ;  her  animated  looks,  without  doubt, 
made  us  understand  what  was  passing  in  her  heart ; 
but  the  art  of  varying  her  gestures,  and  the  skilful 
manner  in  which  she  folded  round  her  the  purple  man- 
tle with  which  she  was  clothed,  produced  at  least  as 
much  effect  as  her  countenance  itself;  she  often  re- 
mained a  considerable  time  in  the  same  attitude,  and 
at  such  times,  a  painter  could  not  have  invented  any 
thing  finer  than  the  picture  v/hich  she  extemporane- 
ously presented  to  us  ;  a  talent  of  this  sort  is  unique. 
I  think  nevertheless,  that  pantomimical  dances  would 
succeed  better  in  Germany,  than  those  which  consist 
entirely,  as  in  France,  of  bodily  gracefulness  and 
agility. 

The  Germans  excel  in  instrumental  music;  the 
knowledge  it  demands,  and  the  patience  necessary  to 
execute  it  well,  are  quite  natural  to  them ;  some  of 
their  composers  have  also  much  variety  and  fruitful- 
ness  of  imagination  ;  I  shall  make  but  one  objection 
to  their  genius  as  musicians  ;  they  put  too  much  mind 
in  their  vvorks ;  they  reflect  too  much  on  what  they 
are  doing.  In  the  fine  arts  there  should  be  m.ore  in- 
stinct than  thought :  the  German  composers  follow  too 
exactly  the  sense  of  the  words  ;  this,  it  is  true,  is  a 
great  merit,  in  the  opinion  of  those  who  love  words 
better  than  music,  and  besides,  we  cannot  deny  that 
a  disagreement  between  the  sense  of  the  one,  and  the 
impression  of  the  other,  would  be  offensive:  but  the 
Italians,  who  are  truly  the  musicians  of  nature,  make 
the  air  and  words  conform  to  each  other  only  in  a  gen- 
eral manner.  In  ballads  and  vaudevilles,  as  there  is 
not  much  music,  the  little  that  there  is  may  be  sub- 
jected to  the  words ;  but  in  the  great  effects  of  melo= 
dy,  we  should  endeavor  to  reach  the  soul  by  an  imme- 
diate sensation. 


OF  TKB  FINE  ARTS  IX  GERIMANY. 


105 


Those  who  are  not  admirers  of  painting-  cansiclcred  ■ 
in  itself,  attach  great  importance  to  the  subject  of  a 
picture  :  they  wish,  in  contemplating-  it,  to  fee]  ths 
impressions  which  are  produced  by  dramatic  represen- 
tation :  it  is  the  same  in  music  ;  when  ics  po\ve?-3  are 
but  feebly  felt,  we  expect  that  it  should  faithiully  con- 
forai  to  every  variation  of  the  words  ;  but  when  the 
whole  soul  is  affected  by  it,  every  thing,  except  the 
music  itself,  is  importunate,  and  distracts  the  atten- 
tion :  provided  there  be  no  contrast  between  the  poe- 
try and  the  music,  we  give  ourselves  up  to  that  art 
which  should  ahvays  predominate  over  the  others  :  for 
the  deiightful  reverie  into  which  it  throv/s  us,  annihi- 
lates all  thoughts  which  may  be  expressed  by  words ; 
and  music  awakening  in  us  the  sentiment  of  infinity, 
every  thing  which  tends  to  particularize  the  object  of 
melody,  must  necessarily  diminish-its  effect. 

Giuck,  whom  the  Germans,  with  reason,  reckon 
among  their  men  of  genius,  has  adapted  his  airs  to  the 
words  in  a  wonderful  manner,  and  in  several  of  his 
operas  he  has  rivalled  the  poet  by  the  expression  of 
his  music.  When  Alcestis  has  determined  to  die  for 
Admetus,  and  that  this  sacrifice,  secretly  offered  to 
the  Gods,  has  restored  her  husband  to  life,  the  con- 
traht  of  the  joyful  airs,  v/hich  celebrate  the  convales- 
cence of  the  king,  and  the  stifled  groans  and  lamenta- 
tions of  the  queen,  who  is  condemned  to  quit  him, 
has  a  fine  tragical  effect.  Orestes,  in  the  Iphigenia  in 
Tauris,  says,  "  serenity  is  restored  to  my  soul,"  and 
the  air  v/hich  he  sings  expresses  the  sentiment,  but  its 
accompaniment  is  mournful  and  agitated.  The  musi- 
cians astonished  at  this  contrast,  endeavoured  in  play- 
ing it,  to  soften  the  accompaniment,  v/hen  Gluck  an- 
grily cried  out:     You  must  not  hearken  to  Orestes, 

ho  tells  you  he  is  calm,  but  he  lies."  Poussin,  in 
painting  the  dance  of  the  shepherdesses,  places  in  the 
landscape  the  tomb  of  a  young  girl,  on  which  is  in- 
scribed :  "And  I  aiso  w^as  an  Arcadian."  There  is 
thought  in  thi^kind  of  conception  of  the  arts,  as  w^ell 
as  in  the  ingenious  combination,  of  Gluck  ;  but  the 
arts  are  superior  to  thought :  their  language  is  coiourj 


106         OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


forms,  or  sounds.  If  we  could  form  an  imagination 
of  the  expressions  of  which  our  souls  would  be  sus- 
ceptible without  the  knowled.2;e  of  words,  we  should 
have  a  more  just  idea  of  the  effect  to  be  produced  by 
painting  and  music. 

Of  all  musicians,  perhaps  Mozart  has  shewn  most 
skill  in  the  talent  of  marrying"  the  music  to  the 
v/ords.  In  his  operas,  particularly  in  "  the  Banquet 
of  the  Statue/'  he  makes  us  sensible  of  all  the  grada- 
tions of  dramatic  representation  ;  the  songs  are  gay 
and  lively,  while  tht  strange  and  loud  accompaniment 
seems  to  point  out  the  fantastic  and  gloomy  subject  of 
the  piece.  This  ingenious  alliance  of  the  musician 
and  poet,  gives  us  also  a  sort  of  pleasure,  but  it  is  a 
pleasure  which  springs  from  rejiection^  and  that  does 
not  belong  to  the  wonderful  sp[>.ere  of  the  aits. 

At  Vienna,  I  heard  Ha-vdn's  Creation  performed  by- 
four  hundred  musicians;  it  was  an  entertainment  wor- 
thy to  be  given  in  honour  of  the  great  work  which  it 
celebrated ;  but  the  skill  of  Haydn  was  sometimes 
even  injurious  to  his  talent:  with  those  words  of  the 
Bible,  "  God  said  let  there  be  light,  and  there  was. 
"  light,"  the  accompaniment  of  the  instrument  was  at 
first  very  soft,  so  as  scarcely  to  be  heai  d,  then  all  at 
once  they  broke  out  together  with  a  terrible  noise,  as 
if  to  express  the  sudden  burst  of  light,  which  occa- 
sioned a  witty  remark,  "  that  at  the  appearance  of  light, 
"  it  was  necessary  to  stop  one's  ears," 

In  several  other  passages  of  the  Creation,  the  same 
labour  of  mind  may  often  be  censured;  the  music 
creeps  slowly  when  the  serpents  are  created ;  it  be- 
comes lively  again  with  the  singing  of  birds,  and  in  the 
Seasons,  by  Haydn  also,  these  allusions  are  still  more 
multiplied.  Effects  tlius  prepared  beforehand,  are  in 
inusic  what  the  Italians  term  concetti :  without  doubt, 
certain  combinations  of  harmony  may  remind  us  of  the 
W'onders  of  nature,  but  their  analogies  have  nothing  to 
do  with  imitation,  which  is  nothing  more  than  a  facti- 
tious amusement.  The  real  resembhvnce  of  the  fine 
arts  to  each  other,  and  also  to  nature,  depend  on  sen- 
timents of  the  same  sort  which  they  excite  in  our  soi,Uar 


GF  THE  FINE  ARTS  IN  GERMANY. 


107 


fey  various  means.  Imitation  and  expression  differ 
extremely  in  the  fine  arts  :  it  is  pretty  generally  agreed, 
I  believe,  that  imitative  m.usic  should  be  laid  aside ; 
but  there  are  still  two  different  ays  of  coDsidering 
that  of  expression  ;  some  wish  to  discover  in  it  a  trans- 
lation of  the  words  ;  others,  and  the  Italians  are  of  tnis 
number,  are  contented  with  a  general  connection  of 
the  situations  of  the  piece  with  the  intention  of  the 
airs,  and  seek  the  pleasures  of  the  art,  entirely  in  the 
ar^  itself.  The  music  of  the  Germans  is  more  varvied 
than  that  of  the  Italians,  and  in  this  respect  perhaps,  is 
not  so  good  ;  the  mind  is  condemned  to  variety,  its  pov- 
erty is  perhaps  the  cause  of  it ;  but  the  arts,  like  sen- 
timent, have  an  admirable  monotony,  that  of  which 
one  would  willingly  make  an  everlasting  moment. 

Church  music  is  not  so  fine  in  Germany  as  in  Italy, 
because  the  instrumental  part  is  too  powerful.  To 
him,  who  has  heard  the  Miserere,  performied  at  Rome 
by  voices  only,  all  instrumental  music,  not  excepting 
that  of  the  Chapel  at  Dresden,  appears  terrestrial. 
Violins  and  trumpets  make  part  of  the  Orchestra  at 
that  place  during  divine  service,  and  the  music  is  con- 
sequently much  more  warlike  than  religious  ;  the  con» 
trast  between  the  lively  impression  it  occasions,  and 
the  recollection  suited  to  the  church,  is  not  agreeable : 
we  should  not  bring  animated  life  to  the  foot  of  the 
tomb  ;  military  music  leads  us  to  sacrifice  existence, 
but  not  to  detach  us  from  it.  The  music  of  the  chapel 
at  Vienna  also  deserves  praise  ;  of  all  the  arts,  music 
is  that  which  the  people  of  Vienna  most  value  ;  and 
this  leads  us  to  hope  that  at  some  future  day,  they  will 
also  become  poets,  for  in  spite  of  their  taste  which  is 
a  little  prosaic,  whoever  really  loves  music,  is  an  en- 
thusiast, without  knowing  it,  of  all  the  sentiments 
which  music  recalls  to  our  mind.  I  heard  at  Vienna 
the  Requiem  composed  by  Mozart,  a  few  days  before 
his  death,  and  which  was  sung  in  the  church  at  his  fu- 
neral ;  it  is  not  sufficiently  solemn  for  the  situation, 
and  we  still  find  in  it,  as  in  all  his  preceding  composi- 
tions, many  ingenious  passages;  what  is  there  howev- 
er, more  affecting  and  impressive  than  the  idea  of  a 


108         OF  LITERATURE  AND  THE  ARTS. 


man  of  superior  genius  thus  celebrating-  his  own  ob- 
sequies,  hispired  at  t!ie  same  time  by  the  sentiment  of 
his  death  and  of  his  imn.ortality  !  The  recollections  of 
life  ought  to  decorate  the  tomb,  t'iie  arms  of  a  warrior 
are  usually  suspended  on  it,  and  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  of 
art  cause  a  peculiarly  solemn  impression  in  the  teiupie 
where  the  remains  of  the  artist  are  consigned  to  re- 
pose. 


PART  III. 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS, 


CHAPTER  I. 

Of  Philosofihij, 


The  world  has  been  pleased,  for  some  time  past,  to 
throw  great  discredit,  upon  the  very  name  of  philoso- 
phy. The  case  is  common  with  all  tliose  terms,  the 
signification  of  which  is  capable  of  much  extension  : 
they  become  alternately  the  objects  of  benediction  or 
blame  among  mankind,  according  to  their  use  in  for- 
tunate or  unhappy  periods  :  but,  in  spite  of  the  casual 
injustice  or  pai  egyric  of  individuals  and  of  nations, 
philosophy,  liberty,  religion,  never  change  their  vaiue, 
Man  has  spoken  evil  things  of  the  sun,  of  love,  and  of 
-life  :  he  has  suffered,  he  has  felt  himself  consumed, 
by  these  lights  of  nature  ;  but  would  he  therefore  ex- 
tinguish them  ? 

Every  thing  that  has  a  tendency  to  set  bounds  to  our 
faculties,  bears  the  stamp  of  a  degraaing  doctrine. 
We  ought  to  direct  those  faculties  to  the  lofty  cikI  of 
ou  existence- — our  advance  to  moral  perfectiorj.  But 
it  is  not  by  the  partial  suicide  of  this  or  that  power  of 
our  nature,  that  w  e  shall  be  rendered  capable  of  ris- 
ing towards  such  an  object:  ail  our  re.-ources  are  not 
i   too  numerous  to  forvrard  our  approach  to  it  j  and,  if 

VOL.  II.  K 


I 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


■* 

Heaven'^Lad  granted  mere  genius  to  man,  he  would 
have  advanced  so  much  the  more  in  virtue. 

Among  the  different  branches  of  philosophy?  meta- 
physics have,  especially,  occupied  the  attention  of  the 
Germans.  The  objects  which  this  pursuit  embraces, 
may  be  divided  into  three  classes.  The  first  relates 
to  the  mystery  of  the  creation  ;  that  is  to  say,  to  the 
infinite  in  ail  things  ;  the  second,  to  the  formation  of 
ideas  in  the  human  mind  ;  and  the  third,  to  the  ex- 
ercise of  cur  faculties,  without  ascending  to  their 
source. 

The  first  of  these  studies,  that  which  applies  itself 
to  the  discovery  of  the  seci'et  of  the  universe,  was 
cultivated  among  the  Greeks,  as  it  now  is  among  the 
Germans.  It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  such  a  pur- 
suit, however  sublime  in  its  principle,  makes  us  feel 
our  impotence  at  every  step ;  and  discouragement 
follows  those  efforts  which  cannot  produce  a  result. 
The  usefulness  of  the  third  sort  of  metaphysics,  that 
which  is  included  in  the  observation  of  the  actions  of 
our  understanding,  cannot  be  contested  ;  but  this  use- 
fulness is  confined  to  the  circle  of  daily  experience. 
The  philosophical  reflections  of  the  second  class — - 
those  v/hich  are  directed  to  the  nature  of  the  human 
mind,  and  to  the  origin  of  our  ideas — appear  to  me 
the  most  interesting  of  all.  It  is  not  likely  that  we 
should  ever  be  able  to  know  the  eternal  truths  which 
explain  the  existence  of  this  world  :  the  desire  that 
w-e  feel  fo'.-  such  knowledge,  is  among  the  number  of 
those  noble  thouglUs  which  draw  us  towards  another 
life  :  but  it  is  not  for  nothing,  that  the  faculty  of  self- 
examination  has  been  given  to  us.  Doubtless,  to  ob? 
serve  the  progress  of  our  intellect,  such  as  it  exists, 
is  already  to  avail  ourselves  of  this  faculty;  neverthe- 
less, in  rising  higher,  in  striving  to  learn  whether  that 
intellect  acts  spontaneously,  or  whether  we  can  only 
think  when  thought  is  excited  by  external  objects,  we 
shall  cast  additional  light  upon  the  free-will  of  man, 
and  consequently  upon  vice  and  virtue. 

A  crowd  of  moral  and  religious  questions  depends 
upon  the  manner  in  which  we  consider  the  origin  and 


PHILOSOPHY, 


Jli 


formation  of  our  ideas.  It  is  the  diversity  of  t^.eir  sys« 
tems  in  this  respect,  above  all  others,  thnt  distinguish- 
es the  German  from  the  French  philosophers.  \Vc 
may  easily  conceive,  that  if  the  difference  is  at  the 
fountain-head,  i:  must  show  itself  in  the  derived 
streams  :  it  is  impossible,  therefore,  to  become  ac- 
quainted -.vith  Germany,  v.  ithout  tracing;  the  progress 
of  that  philosophy,  wnich,  from  the  days  of  Leibnitz 
down  to  our  o^vn,  has  incessantly  exerted  so  great  a 
power  over  the  republic  of  letters. 

There  are  two  methods  of  considering  the  philoso- 
phy  of  the  human  mind  :  either  in  its  theory  or  in  its 
results.  The  examination  of  the  theory  demands  a 
capacity  which  belo;ig-s  not  to  me  ;  but  it  is  easy  to  re- 
niarli  the  influence  vvhich  this  or  tha.t  metaphysical 
opinion  exercises  over  the  developement  of  the  un- 
derstanding and  of  the  soul.  The  Gospel  tells  us, 
"  that  we  must  judge  of  prophets  by  their  works 
this  maxim  may  also  guide  cur  inquiry  into  the  dif- 
ferent systems  of  paiiosophy;  for  every  thing  that  is 
of  immoral  tendency  must  be  sophisticaL  This  life 
ha:  no  value,  unless  it  is  subservient  to  the  religious 
education  of  our  hearts  ;  unless  it  prepares  us  for  a 
higher  destiny,  by  oui^  free  choice  of  virtue  upon  earth. 
Metaphysics,  social  institutions^  arts,  sciences,  all 
ought  to  be  appreciated  accordingly  as  they  contribute 
to  the  moral  perfection  of  mankind  :  this  is  the  touch- 
stone granted  to  the  ignorant  as  weu  as  to  the  learned. 
For  if  the  knowledge  of  the  means  belongs  onfv  to 
the  inuiatedj  the  results  are  discernible  bv  all  "the 
world. 

It  is  necessary  to  be  accustomed  to  tliat  mode  cF 
reasoning  wiiich  is  used  in  geometry,  in  order  to  gain 
a  full  comprehension  of  metaphysics.  In  this  science, 
as  in  that  of  calculatioii,  if  we  omit  the  least  link  in 
the  chain  of  evidence,  we  destroy  the  whole  connex- 
ion. Metaphysical  reasojiings  are  more  abstract,  and 
not  less  precise,  than  mathematical ;  and  yet  their  ob- 
ject is  indefinite.  We  must  unite,  as  metaphvsicians, 
two  of  the  most  opposhe  faculties — fancy,  and  the 
power  of  calculation  :  we  have  to  measure  a  cloud 


112 


PHILOSOPHY  -AND  MORALS. 


v/ith  the  same  accuracy  that  we  measure  a  field;  and 
there  is  do  study  which  requires  such  closeness  of  at- 
tention ;  nevertheless,  in  the  most  sublime  ques- 
tions there  is  always  some  point  of  view  within  the 
reach  of  every  body,  and  it  is  that  point  which  I  design 
to  seize  and  to  present. 

I  put  a  question  one  day  to  Fichte,  who  possesses 
one  of  the  strongest  and  most  thinking-  heads  in  Ger- 
many, whether  he  could  not  more  easily  teii  me  his 
moral  system  than  his  metaphysical  ?  "  Ti^e  one  de- 
"  pends  upon  the  other,"  he  replied;  and  the  remark 
was  very  profound  :  it  comprehends  all  the  motives  of 
that  interest  which  we  can  take  in  philosophy. 

We  have  been  accustom.ed  to  regard  it  as  destruc- 
tive of  every  belief  of  the  heart ;  it  Avoukl  then  indeed 
be  the  enemy  of  man  ;  but  it  is  not  so  with  the  doctrine 
of  Plato,  nor  with  that  of  the  Germans  :  they  considep 
sentiment  as  a  fact^  the  primitive  phrenomenon  of 
mind  ;  and  they  look  upon  the  power  of  philosophical 
reasoniii^,'  as  destined  solely  to  investigate  the  mean- 
ing- of  this  fact. 

Ti)e  enigma  of  the  universe  has  wasted  the  medi- 
tatif)i>s  of  many,  who  have  still  deserved  our  admira- 
tion, because  they  felt  themselves  summoned  to  some- 
thiifg  belter  than  the  present  world.  Geniusses  of  a 
lofty  kind  love  to  wander  unceasingly  around  the 
abyss  of  thoughts  that  are  without  an  end  ;  but  stiii 
they  must  tmn  themselves  av/ay  from  it,  for  the  mind 
iatir2;ues  itself  in  vain,  in  these  efforts  to  scale  the 
heavens. 

I'he  oripin  of  thought  has  occupied  the  attention  of 
all  true  philosophers.  Are  there  two  natures  in  man  I 
If  there  be  but  one,  is  it  mind  or  matter  ?  If  there  be 
two,  do  ideas  come  by  the  senses,  or  do  they  spring 
Up  in  the  soul  ?  Or,  in  truth,  are  they  a  mixture  of  the 
action  of  external  objects  upon  us,  and  of  the  internai 
faculties  which  we  possess  ? 

To  these  three  questions,  which  at  all  times  have 
divined  the  philosophical  world,  is  united  the  inquiry 
T/hirh  most  inurieciiateiy  touches  upon  virtue- — the  in- 


OF  PHILOSOPHY. 


]13 


quiry,  whether  free-will  or  fatality  decides  the  resclii^ 
tioiis  of  man. 

Among  the  ancients,  fatality  arose  from  the  will  of 
the  gods  ;  among  the  moderns,  it  is  attributed  to  the 
course  of  events.  The  ancient  fatality  gave  a  new  ev- 
idence to  free-will  ;  for  the  w^ill  of  man  struggled 
against  the  event,  and  moral  resistance  was  uncon- 
querable :  the  fatalism  of  the  moderns,  on  the  con- 
trary, necessarily  destroys  the  belief  in  free-will  :  if 
circumstances  make  us  what  we  are,  we  cannot  oppose 
their  empire  ;  if  external  objects  are  the  cause  of  all 
that  passes  in  our  mind,  what  independent  thought  can 
free  us  from  their  ascendancy  ?  The  fatalism  which  de- 
scended from  heaven,  filled  the  soul  with  a  holy  terror  ; 
while  that  which  attaches  us  to  earth  only  works  our 
degradation.  It  may  be  asked,  to  what  purpose  all 
these  questions  ?  It  may  be  answered,  to  v/hat  pur- 
pose any  thing  that  bears  no  relation  to  them  ?  For 
what  IS  there  more  important  to  man,  than  to  know 
whether  he  really  is  responsible  for  his  actions  ;  and 
what  sort  of  a  proportion  there  is  betv/een  the  pov/er 
of  the  will  and  the  empire  of  circumstances  over  it  ? 
What  would  become  of  conscience,  if  our  habits  alone 
gave  birth  to  it  ;  if  it  was  nothing  but  the  product  of 
colours,  of  sounds,  of  perfumes,  of  circumstances, 
in  short,  of  every  kind,  with  which  we  may  have  been 
surrounded  from  our  infancy  ? 

That  species  of  metaphysics,  v/hich  endeavours  to 
discover  what  is  the  source  of  our  ideas,  has  a  power- 
ful influence,  by  its  consequences,  upon  the  nature 
and  energy  of  our  will  ;  that  species  is  at  once  the 
most  exalted  and  the  most  necessary  of  all  our  kinds 
of  knowledge  ;  and  the  advocates  of  the  highest  utili> 
ty,  namely,  of  moral  utility,  cannot  undervalue  it. 


VOL.  II. 


K2 


114 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MOliALK 


CHAPTER  II. 

Of  English  Philosophy. 


VERY  thing  seems  to  testify  in  us  the  existencer 
of  a  double  nature.  The  influence  of  the  senses  and 
that  of  the  mind  share  our  being-  bety/een  them  ;  andj 
accordingly  as  philosophy  inclines  towards  the  one  or 
the  other,  opinions  and  se)\timents  are  in  every  respect 
diametrically  opposite.  We  may  also  describe  the  do- 
minion of  the  senses,  and  that  of  thought,  by  other 
terms  :  — there  is  in  man  that  which  perishes  with  his 
earthly  existence,  and  that  which  may  survive  him  ; 
that  which  experience  enables  him  to  acquire,  and  that 
^vith  which  his  moral  instinct  inspires  him — the  finite 
and  the  infinite  :  but  in  what  manner  soever  we  ex° 
press  ourselves,  it  is  always  necessary  to  grant  that 
there  are  two  different  principles  of  life  in  a  creature 
subject  to  death,  and  destined  to  im.mortality. 

A  tendency  to  spiritualize  has  been  always  very  man-  , 
ifest  amcDp;  the  people  of  the  North  ;  and  even  before 
the  inti eduction  of  Christianity,  this  bias  made  itself 
perceptible  through  the  violence  of  warlike  passions. 
The  Greeks  had  faith  in  external  miracles  -the  Ger- 
man nations  believe  the  miracles  of  the  soul.  All  their 
poetry  is  filled  with  misgivings,  with  presages,  with 
prophecies  of  the  heart;  and  while  the  Greeks  united 
theinselves  to  nature  by  their  indulgence  in  pleasure, 
the  ihhabitants  of  the  North  raised  themselves  to  their 
Creator  by  religious  sentiments.  In  the  South,  Pagan- 
ism deified  the  phsenomena  of  nature  ;  in  the  North, 
they  were  inclined  to  believe  in  magic,  because  it  at- 
tributes to  tlic  mind  of  man  a  boundless  power  over 
the  material  world.  The  soul  and  nature,  liberty  and 
necT'Ssily,  divide  the  dominion  of  existence  ;  and  just 
as  we  place  the  comiBaiiding  force  within  ourselves  or 


ENGLISH  PHILOSOPm', 


115 


without  us,  we  are  the  sons  of  heaven,  or  the  slaves 
of  earth. 

At  the  revival  of  letters,  there  were  some  who  oc- 
cupied themselves  with  the  siibtilties  of  the  schools  in 
metaphysics,  and  others  who  believed  in  the  supersti- 
tions of  magic  in  the  sciences  :  the  art  of  observation 
reigned  no  more  in  the  empire  of  the  senses,  than  en- 
thusiasm in  the  empire  of  the  soul  :  with  very  few  ex- 
ceptions, there  was  neither  experience  nor  inspiration 
among  the  philosophers.  A  giant  appeared — this  was 
Eacon  ;  never  v/ere  the  discoveries  of  thought,  nor 
the  vv-onders  of  nature,  so  well  conceived  by  the  same 
intelligence.  There  is  not  a  phrase  in  his  writings 
which  does  not  imply  years  of  reflection  and  of  study  ; 
he  animates  his  metaphysics  with  his  knov/ledge  of  the 
human  heart  ;  he  knovv's  how  to  generalize  facts  by 
philosophy.  In  physical  science  he  has  created  the  art 
of  experiment ;  but  it  does  not  at  all  follow,  as  it  has 
been  attempted  to  make  us  believe,  that  he  was  the  ad^ 
vocate  of  that  system  exclusively,  v.hich  grounds  all 
our  ideas  upon  our  sensations.  He  admits  inspiration 
in  every  thing  that  belongs  to  the  soul;  and  he  thinks 
it  even  necessary,  in  order  to  interpret  natural  phae- 
nomena  according  to  general  principles.  But.  in  his 
age,  there  were  still  alchemists,  diviners,  and  sorcer- 
ers :  they  were  ignorant  enough  of  religion,  in  the 
greatest  part  of  Europe,  to  believe  that  there  were  some 
truths  of  which  she  forbade  the  promulgation— she 
who  leads  us  inta  all  truth  Bacon  was  struck  v/ith 
these  errors  ; — -his  age  had  a  bias  towards  superstition, 
as  our  age  has  towards  incredulity.  At  the  epoch  in 
which  he  lived,  it  was  right  to  endeavour  to  bring 
experimental  philosophy  into  favour  ;  in  our  sera,  he 
would  have  felt  the  necesbity  of  reanimating  the  inter- 
nal source  of  moral  beauty,  and  of  recalling  in- 
cessantly this  truth  to  tne  memory  of  man — that  he 
exists  in  himself^  in  his  sentiment,  and  in  his  wdiL 
Wnen  the  age  is  superstitious,  the  genius  of  observa- 
tion is  timid  ;  the  natural  world  is  iil  known  : — when 
the  age  is  incredulous,  enthusiasm  exists  no  more,  and 
we  are  thenceforth  ignorant  of  the  soul  and  of  heaven. 


116 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


At  a  time  when  the  progress  of  the  human  mind  was 
unsure  on  every  side,  Bacon  coliected  all  his  forces 
to  trace  out  the  way  in  wliich  experimental  philosophy 
ought  to  proceed;  and  his  writings,  even  yet,  serve 
for  conductors  to  those  who  study  nature.  As  a  min- 
ister of  state,  he  was  for  a  long  time  occupied  with 
government  and  with  politics.  The  strongest  heads 
are  these  which  unite  the  taste  and  the  habit  for  medi- 
tation with  a  capacity  for  business.  Bacon,  under  both 
these  views,  was  a  wonderful  genius  ;  but  his  philoso" 
phy  and  his  character  failed  in  the  same  point.  He 
was  not  virtuous  enough  faliy  to  feel  the  moral  liberty 
of  man  :  nevertheless,  we  cannot  compare  him  to  the 
materialists  of  the  last  age  ;  and  his  successors  have 
pushed  the  theory  of  experience  much  beyond  his  in- 
tention. He  is  far,  I  repeat  it,  from  attributing  all  our 
ideas  to  our  sensations,  and  from  considering  analysis  as 
the  sole  instrument  of  discovery.  He  frequently  fol- 
lows a  more  daring  path  ;  and  if  he  adheres  to  experi- 
mental logic  to  remove  ail  the  prejudices  which  en- 
cumber his  progress,  it  is  to  the  spring  of  genius  alone 
that  he  trusts  to  forward  his  advance. 

<•<-  The  human  mind,"  says  Luther,  "  is  like  a  drunk- 
«  en  peasant  on  horseback  ;  when  we  put  it  up  on  one 
"  side  it  falls  down  on  the  other." — Thus  man  has  in- 
cessantly fluctuated  between  his  two  natures  ;  some- 
times his  thoughts  have  disentangled  him  from  his 
sensations  ;  sometimes  his  sensations  have  absorbed 
his  thoughts,  and  he  has  wished,  successively,  to  refer 
every  thing  to  one  or  the  other  :  it  however  appears 
to  me,  that  the  moment  for  a  fixed  doctrine  has  ar- 
rived. Metaphysics  are  about  to  undergo  a  revolu- 
tion, like  that  which  Copernicus  has  produced  in  the 
system  of  the  world.  They  are  about  tp  replace  the 
soul  of  man  in  the  centre,  and  to  make  it,  in  every  re- 
spect, like  the  sun  ;  round  which  external  objects  trace 
their  circle,  and  from  v/hich  they  borrow  their  light. 

The  genealogical  tree  of  the  different  branches  of 
human  knowledge,  in  which  every  science  is  referred 
to  a  certain  faculty^  is  doubtless  one  of  the  titles  of 


ENGLISH  PHILOSOPHY. 


117 


Bacon  to  the  admiratlcn  of  posterity ;  but  that  which 
constitutes  his  real  glory  is  this — that  he  has  announced 
his  opinion,  that  there  was  do  absolute  separation  of  one 
science  from  another  ;  but  that  general  philosophy 
re-united  them  all.  He  is  not  the  author  of  that 
anatomical  method,  which  considers  the  intellectual 
powers  severally,  or  each  by  itself ;  and  which  appears 
to  be  ig-norant  cf  the  admirable  unity  in  the  moral  be- 
ing-. Sensibility,  imagination,  reason,  each  is  subser- 
vient to  the  other. — ^Every  one  of  these  faculties  would 
be  nothing:  but  a  disease,  but  weakness,  instead  of 
strength,  if  it  vvere  not  modified  or  completedby  the  col- 
lective character  of  our  nature.  The  exact  sciences, 
at  a  certain  height,  stand  in  need  of  the  imagination. 
She,  in  her  turn,  must  support  herself  upon  the  ac- 
curate knowledge  of  nature.  Reason,  of  all  our  fac- 
ulties, appears  to  be  that  which  would  most  easily  do 
without  the  assistance  of  the  others  ;  and  yet,  if  a  person 
were  entirely  unprovided  with  imagination  and  sensi- 
bility, he  might  by  that  very  want  become,  if  we  may 
so  express  it,  the  fool  of  reason  ;  and,  seeing  nothing 
in  life  but  calculations  and  material  interests,  deceive 
himself  as  m.uch  concerning  the  characters  and  affec- 
tions cf  m.en,  as  the  enthusiastic  being  whose  fancy 
pictures  all  round  him  disinterestedness  and  love. 

We  follow  a  bad  system  of  education,  when  we  aim 
at  the  exclusive  develcpment  cf  this  or  that  quality 
of  mind  ;  for,  to  devote  ourselves  to  one  faculty,  is  to 
take  up  an  intellectual  trade.  I\Iiiton  says,  v/ith  rea- 
son, that  our  education  is  not  good,  excepting  when  it 
renders  us  capable  of  every  employ  in  peace  or  war  : 
all  that  makes  the  man  A  man^  is  the  true  object  of  in- 
struction. 

Not  to  know  any  thing  of  a  science  but  that  portion 
cf  it  which  individualiy  belongs  to  us,  is  to  apply  the 
division  of  labour  (mculcated  by  Smith)  to  the  liberal 
studies,  when  it  is  only  adapted  to  the  mechanic  arts. 
When  we  arrive  at  that  heighi  where  every  science 
touches  upon  all  the  rest  in  some  particulars,  it  is 
then  that  we  approach  the  re^rion  of  universal  ideas 


IJ8 


I^HILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


and  the  air  v/hich  breathes  from  that  region  gives  life 
to  all  our  thoughts. 

The  soul  is  a  nre  that  darts  its  rays  through  all 
the  senses  :  it  is  in  this  fire  that  existence  consists  :  all 
the  observations  and  all  the  efforts  of  philosophers 
ought  to  turn  towards  this  point  of  individuality — -the 
centre  and  the  moving  power  of  our  sentiments  and 
our  ideas.  Doubtless,  the  imperfection  of  language 
compels  us  to  make  use  of  erroneous  expressions  ; 
n-e  are  obliged  to  repeat,  according  to  the  customary 
phrase,  such  a  person  is  endowed  with  the  power  of 
reason,  of  imagination,  or  of  sensibility,  Sec;  but,  if 
we  wish  to  be  understood  in  a  single  word,  we 
ought  to  say,  he  has  soul— -an  abundance  of  souL*  It 
is  this  divine  spirit  that  makes  the  whole  man. 

Love  is  the  instructor  who  teaches  us  more  certainly 
what  belongs  to  the  mysteries  of  the  soul,  than  the  ut- 
most metaphysical  subtilty.  We  never  attach  ourselves 
to  this  or  that  qualification  of  the  object  of  our  prefer- 
ence ;  and  every  madrigal  reveals  a  great  philosophical 
truth,  when  it  says — "  I  love  I  know  not  why  I"  for  this 

I  know  not  why,"  is  that  collective  character,  and 
that  harmony,  which  we  recognize  by  love,  by  admira- 
tion, by  all  the  sentiments  which  reveal  to  us  what  is 
most  deep  and  most  secret  in  the  heart  of  another. 

The  method  of  analysis,  which  can  only  examine  by 
division,  applies  itself^  like  the  dissecting-knife  to  dead 
nature  ;  but  it  is  a  bad  instrument  to  teach  us  to  under- 
stand what  is  living  ;  and  if  we  feel  a  difficulty  in  ver- 
bally defining  that  anim.ated  conception  which  repre- 
sents whole  objects  to  our  mind,  it  is  precisely  because 
that  conception  clings  more  closely  to  the  very  essence 
of  things.  To  divide,  in  order  to  comprehend,  is  a 
sign  of  weakness  in  philosophy  ;  as  to  divide,  in  order- 
to  rule,  is  a  sign  of  weakness  in  political  pov\^er. 

Bacon  adhered  much  more  than  is  believed  to  that 
ideal  philosophy,  which,  from  the  days  of  Piato  down 

*  M.  Ancillon,  of  whom  T  shall  liave  occasion  to  speak  in 
the  Fourth  Ppa't  of  this  work,  has  made  use  of  this  expi^essioii 
in  a  book,  upon  which  one  cannot  grow  tired  of  meditating-. 


ENGLISH  PHILOSOPHY. 


no 


4-0  our  o^n,  has  constantly  re-appeared  unCer  difTerent 
forms.— Nevertheless,  the  success  cf  his  analytical 
method  in  the  ex -ct  sciences  has  necessarily  had  an 
infiuence  cv.v  : h?  .  :  yslcal  sys::;::,  HU  ^'octrins 
of  sensations,  conii.::-rcc:  as  the  origin  ci  i:.^:.?.  /.v.s  been 
understood  in  a  much  more  po:i:r  e  sen  =  e  ;:..  n  :  m 
^vhich  he  maintained  i:  hinv-e.t,  V.  e  can  clear]y  see 
the  infiuence  cf  fhis  c::::  :  i:^  h  e  v  c  rchcols  which 
it  has  produced— that  c:  Hh:  ::-.  cf  Locke. 

Certainly  they  chn-i  very  mu:..  :n  :  -::r  intent  ;  ::ut 
their  principles  are  ahlke  in  many  r^spec  .s, 

Hobbes  embraced  to  the  letter  that  phh  ;  vi;  ^v.-  v  hich 
derives  all  cur  ideas  froni  the  impressions  ct  sense. 
He  feared  not  the  consequences;  and  he  has  bcldly 
said,  "  that  the  soul  is  as  much  subjected  to  recessity, 
«  as  society  to  despoUsnn"  lie  admiis  the  fatalism  of 
sensation  as  the  controller  of  iLGU^-nt,  and  tijat  offeree 
as  the  coirtrolier  of  action.  Ke  annihilates  moral  as 
well  as  civil  lioerty  ;  n  i: hhi^g,  with  reason,  that  one 
depends  upon  the  oti.cr  lie  was  an  Atheist  and  a 
slave,  and  nothing  is  more  in  the  course  cf  things  ;  for 
if  there  is  in  man  but  tne  impress  of  sensations  re- 
ceived fi'om  without,  eaihny  yo^ver  is  every  thing, 
and  our  soul  and  our  destiny  equally  depend  upon  it. 

The  culcivation  cf  all  pure  and  elevate:;  sentiments 
is  so  consolidated  ii.  Lr;flarc.  by  pohtical  aud  reli- 
gious institutions,  tha-.  n.--  iieyucisins  of  geihus  re- 
Tolve  around  tl"t€se  imposing  coiun.ns  v.ithcut  ever 
shaking  them.  Hobbes.  accordingly,  h-.s  gained  fev/ 
partisans  in  his  country  ;  .rut  h.hu.acc  cf  Lr^cke 
has  been  more  univerj.ih  ai^  :a..rr.'.. .  .r  was  incral 

and  rehj;:ous.  he  aid  not  allow  himsAi  to  use  anv  of 
those  dangerous  reasonings  which  are  necessarily  de- 
rived from  his  nr^r  physical  system  ;  and  the  greater 
part  of  his  ccun  ryni  .ar.  in  adopting  that  system,  have 
shown  the  :  rr.  r  .  .orious  v  ant  of  consister.cy.  v.  ihch 
he  did — have  t^jp^iated  results  from  puacipies — until 
Hume,  and  the  French  phiicsopusi  s.  having  aamitted 
the  system,  made  application  of  it  in  a  much  more 
■logical  manner. 


120 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MOHALS. 


The  metaphysical  doctrines  of  Locke  have  had  no 
ether  effect  upon  the  wits  of  England,  than  to  tarnish 
a  littie  tlieir  natural  originality  :  if  they  had  even  dried 
up  U\t  source  of  hig-h  philosophical  reflection,  tbey 
•\vouid  not  fiave  destroyed  that  religions  sentinient 
which  car  so  well  supply  the  want  of  it;  but  these 
d-octrines,  so  generally  received  throughout  the  rest 
of  Europe  (Germany  excepted  ),  have  been  one  of  the 
pripxipal  causes  of  that  immorality,  the  advocates  of 
wliicii  have  foroied  ii  into  a  theory,  in  order  to  make 
its  practice  more  certain. 

Locke  exerted  lis  especial  endeavours  to  prove  that 
there  is  nothing  innate  m  th^t  y/.h^.c].  He  was  right  in 
his  ov^n  sense,  for  he  always  b-'ij-v'.ec  .vicii  the  mean- 
ing of  the  v'ord  Ideatnat  of  a  iioiiorj  acquired  by  expe- 
rience ;  ideas  tlius  conceived  are  the  result  of  the  ob^ 
jects  that  excite,  of  ti  e  comparisons  that  assemble 
them,  and  of  the  language  that  expedites  their  union. 
But  this  is  not  the  case  with  the  sentiments,  with  the  dis- 
positions, and  tiie  facuiti-  s  v/hicb  constitute  the  laws 
of  the  human  understanding,  in  '\he  same  manner  that 
attraction  and  impulse  constitute  the  laws  of  external 
nature. 

It  is  truly  v/orth  observing  what  kind  of  arguments 
Locke  has  been  compelled  to  adopt,  in  order  to  prove 
that  every  thing  in  the  mirid  came  there  by  means  of 
sensation.  If  these  arguments  led  to  the  truih,  doubt- 
less we  ought  to  overeome  the  moral  aversion  with 
which  they  inspire  us ;  but,  in  general,  we  may  trust 
to  this  sort  of  aversion  as  an  infallible  token  of  what 
must  be  avoided.  Locke  wished  to  snow  that  con- 
science, or  the  sense  of  good  and  evil,  was  not  innate 
in  man;  and  that  vwe  know  nothhig  of  justice  or  in- 
justice, except  irom  experience,  as  we  learn  to  dis- 
tinguish red  from  blue.  To  arrive  at  this  conclusion, 
he  has  carefully  inquired  alter  ail  those  countries 
where  the  laws  and  customs  pay  respect  to  crimes ; 
those  for  instance,  in  which  it  is  thought  a  duty  to 
kili  an  enen  y ;  to  despise  marriage;  to  put  a  father 
to  death,  when  he  has  grown  old.  He  alien: ively  col- 
lects every  thmg  that  travellers  have  related  of  bar- 


bngOsh  philosophy. 


121 


"barities  \vhich  have  passed  into  daily  practice.  Of 
what  nature  then  must  that  system  be,  wiiich  excites, 
in  so  virtuous  a  man  as  Loci^e,  an  eagerness  for  such 
narrations  ? 

Let  them  be  melancholy  tales,  or  not,  it  may  be 
said,  the  important  thing-  is  to  know  if  they  are  true.— - 
Allow  them  to  be  true,  of  what  consequence  are  they  ? 
Do  we  not  know,  by  our  own  experience,  that  cir- 
cumstances, in  other  words  external  objects,  have  an 
influence  over  the  manner  in  vvhich  v/e  interpret  our 
duties?  Amplify  these  circumstances,  and  you  will 
find  in  them  the  causes  of  national  error  ;  but  is  there 
any  nation,  or  any  man,  that  denies  the  obligation  of 
all  duty  ?  Has  it  ever  been  pretended  that  the  ideas 
of  justice  and  injustice  have  no  meaning?  Different 
explanations  of  them- may  prevail  in  different  places  ; 
but  the  conviction  of  the  principle  is  every  where  the 
same  ;  and  it  is  in  this  conviciion  that  the  primi-ive 
impression  consists,  which  we  recognise  in  every  be- 
ing of  human  birth. 

When  the  savage  kills  his  aged  father,  he  believes 
that  he  renders  the  old  man  a  service  ;  he  does  not  act 
for  his  own  interest,  but  for  that  of  his  parer:t:  the 
deed  he  commits  is  horrible  ;  and  yet  he  is  not  on  that 
account  devoid  of  conscience  :  because  he  is  ignor?.nt, 
■he  is  not  therefore  vicious.  The  sensations,  that  is  to 
say,  the  external  objecis,  with  which  he  is  surrounded, 
blind  him;  the  inward  sentiment,  which  constitutes 
the  hatred  for  vice  and  the  love  of  virtue,  does  not 
the  less  exist  within  him,  because  he  has  been  deceiv- 
I  -ed  by  experience  as  to  the  manner  in  which  this  sen- 
timent ought  to  be  manifested  in  his  life.  To  j^refer 
others  to  ourselves,  when  virtue  commands  the  pre- 
ference, is  precisely  that  in  which  the  essence  of  mor- 
al beauty  consists  ;  and  this  admirable  instinct  of  the 
soul,  the  opponent  of  our  physical  iustinct,  is  inherent 
in  our  nature  ;  if  it  could  be  acquired,  it  could  also  be 
lost ;  but_  it  is  unchangeable,  because  it  is  innate. 
It  is  possible  for  us  to  do  evil,  v/hen  Vve  believe  we 
are  doing  good ;  a  man  may  be  culpable  knowingly 

VOL.  u,  L 


122 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS'. 


and  willingly ;  but  he  cannot  admit  a  contradiction  for 
a  truth,  that  justice  is  injustice. 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  indifference  to  j^-ood  and 
evil,  and  it  is  the  ordinary  result  of  civilization,  when 
its  coldness  has  reached  the  point  of  petrifaction,  if 
the  expression  may  be  allowed  :  this  indifference,  is  a 
much  greater  argument  against  an  innate  conscience 
than  the  gross  errors  of  savages :  but  the  most  scep- 
tical of  men,  if  they  are  sufferers  from  oppression  ia 
any  relation  of  life,  appeal  to  justice,  as  if  they  had 
believed  in  it  all  their  days  ;  and  when  they  are  seized 
with  any  vivid  affection,  and  tyrannical  power  is  exer- 
ted to  control  it,  they  can  invoke  the  sentiment  of  equi- 
ty with  as  much  force  as  the  most  severe  of  moralists. 
When  the  flame  of  any  passion,  whether  it  be  indig- 
nation or  love,  takes  possession  of  the  soul,  the  sa- 
cred hand-v^^riting  of  the  eternal  law  may  be  seen  by 
that  light  re-appearing  in  our  bosoms. 

.If  the  accident  of  birth  and  education  decided  the 
morality  of  man,  how  could  we  accuse  him  for  his 
actions  ?  If  all  that  composes  our  will  comes  to  us 
from  external  objects,  every  one  may  appeal  to  his 
own  particular  relations  for  the  motives  of  his  whole 
conduct;  and  frequently  these  relations  differ  as  much 
between  the  inhabitants  of  the  same  country,  as  be- 
tween an  Asiatic  and  European.  If  circumstances 
then  were  to  be  the  deities  of  mortals,  it  would  be  in 
order  for  every  man  to  have  his  peculiar  morality,  or 
rather  a  want  of  morals  according  to  his  respective 
practice ;  and  to  counteract  the  evil  which  sensation 
might  suggest,  no  efficient  reason  could  be  opposed 
to  it,  except  the  public  pov/er  of  punishment  :  now, 
if  that  public  power  commanded  us  to  be  unjust,  the 
question  would  be  resolved;  every  sensation  might 
be  the  parent  of  every  idea,  which  would  lead  us  on  to 
the  most  complete  depravity. 

The  proofs  of  the  spirituality  of  the  soul  cannot  be 
discovered  in  the  empire  of  the  senses.    The  yisi 
world  is  abandoned  to  their  dominion ;  but  the  inv' 
ble,  will  not  be  subjected  to  it ;  and  if  we  do  not  ac- 
mit  that  there  are  ideas  of  spontaneous  growth, 


EX  GUSH  PHn.OSOPHT. 


123 


thought  ar.d  seBtimer.t  depend  entirely  upon  sensa- 
tions, hc%Y  should  the  soul,  that  submits  to  such  a 
state  of  servitude,  be  an  immaterial  essence  ?  And  if, 
as  nobody  denies,  the  greater  part  of  the  knowledge 
transmitted  by  the  senses  is  liable  to  error,  ^hat  sort 
of  a  moral  beicg  must  that  be,  who  does  not  act  until 
aroused  by  outward  objects,  and  by  objects  even  whose 
appearances  are  often  deceitful  : 
"  A  French  phiiosopher,  making  use  of  the  most  re- 
Tolting  expression,  has  said,  «  that  thought  is  nothing 
«  but  the  material  product  of  the  brain."    This  deplo- 
rable dennition  is  the  most  natural  result  of  that  spe- 
cies of  metaphysics,  which  attributes  to  our  sensations 
the  origin  of  all  our  ideas.    We  are  in  the  right,  if  it 
be  so,  to  laugh  at  all  that  is  inteliectual,  and  to  make 
what  is  impaipabie  synonymous  with  what  is  incom- 
prehensible.   If  the  human  mind  is  but  a  subtle  mat- 
ter, put  in  motion  by  other  elements,  more  or  less 
gross,  in  eoraparison  with  which  even  it  has  the  disad- 
vantage of  being  passive  ;  if  our  impressions  and  our 
recollections  are  nothing  but  the  prolonged  vibrations 
of  an  instrument,  which  chance  has  played  upon  ;  then 
there  are  only  fibres  in  the  bi-ain,  there  is  nothing  but 
physical  force  in  the  world,  and  every  thing  can  be- 
expiained  according  to  the  laws  by  which  th  .t  force  is 
gover.ied.    Still  there  remain  some  little  difficulties 
concerning  the  origin  of  thLngs,  and  the  end  of  out- 
esiscence :  but  the  question  has  been  much  simpliSed^ — 
d  reason  now  counsels  us  to  suppress  within  our 
-3ulsaii  the  desires  and  all  the  hopes  that  genius, 
love,  and  religion  call  to  life ;  for,  according  to  this 
system,  man  would  only  be  another  machine  in  the 
great  mechanism  of  the  imiverse  ;  his  faculties  would 
be  all  wheel-work,  his  morality  a  m.atter  cf  caicula- 
Uon,  and  his  divinity  success. 

Locke,  believing  from  tiie  bottom  of  his  soul  in  the 
existence  of  God,  established  his  conviction,  without 
perceiving  it,  upon  reasonings  which  are  all  taken  out 
cf  the  sphere  of  experience  :  he  asserts  the  existence 
of  ail  eternal  principle,  the  priman.-  cause  of  all  other 
C2us€5 :  tV:iis  he  enters  into  the  region  of  innniiy,  and 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


that  region  lies  beyond  all  experience  s  but  Locke  at 
the  same  time,  was  so  apprehensive  lest  the  idea  of 
God  should  pass  for  an  innate  idea  in  man,  it  appear- 
ed  to  him  so  absurd  that  the  Creator  should  have  deign- 
ed to  inscribe  his  name,  like  that  ot  a  great  painter 
upon  the  tabiet  of  the  soul,  that  he  set  himself  to  dis- 
cover, out  of  ail  the  narratives  of  travellers,  some  na- 
tions who  were  destitute  of  any  religious  belief.  We 
may,  I  clunk,  boldly  affirm,  that  such  nations  do  not 
exist.  The  impulse  that  exalts  us  towards  the  Su- 
preme Being  discovers  itself  in  the  genius  of  Newton, 
as  it  does  in  the  soul  of  the  poor  savage,  who  worships 
the  stone  upon  which  he  finds  rest.  No  man  clings 
exclusively  to  this  world,  such  as  it  is  at  present ;  and 
all  have  felt  in  their  hearts,  at  some  period  of  their 
lives,  an  unuefinable  inclination  towards  the  supernat- 
ural :  but,  how  can  it  happen,  that  a  being,  so  reli- 
gious as  Locke,  should  try  to  change  the  primitive 
characters  of  belief  into  an  accidental  knowledge  which 
chance  may  confer  or  take  away  ?  I  repeat  it — the  ten- 
dency of  any  doctrine  ought  always  to  be  deemed  of 
great  account  in  the  judgment  v*'hich  we  form  upon 
the  truth  of  that  doctrine  ;  for,  in  theory,  the  good 
and  the  true  are  inseparable. 

All  that  is  visible  talks  to  man  of  a  beginning  and  an 
end,  of  decline  and  destruction.  A  divine  spark  is 
the  only  indication  of  our  immortality.  From  what 
sensation  does  this  ai  ise  ?  All  our  sensations  fii^ht 
against  it,  and  yet  it  triumphs  over  them  all.  Wiiat ! 
it  will  be  saidj  d©  not  final  causes,  do  not  the  wonders 
of  the  uniyerse>  the  splendour  of  heaven  that  strikes 
our  eyes,  all  declare  the  magnificence  and  the  good- 
ness of  our  Creator  ?  The  book  of  nature  is  contradic- 
tory ;  we  see  there  the  emblems  of  good  and  evil  a!» 
most  in  equal  proportion  ;  and  things  are  thus  consti- 
tuted, in  order  that  man  may  be  able  to  exercise  his 
liberty  between  opposite  probabilities,  between  fears 
and  hopes  almost  of  equal  power.  The  starry  heaven 
appears  to  us  like  the  threshold  of  the  Divinity  ;  but 
all  tl;^:;  cviis  and  all  the  vices  or  human  nature  obscure 
these  ceiestial  fires.    A  solitary  voice  without  speeclj,. 


EXGOSH  PHILOSOPHT. 


125 


but  not  without  barmoDy ;  witliout  force,  but  irresist- 
ible ;  proclairas  a  God  at  the  bottom  of  the  human 
heart :  all  that  is  truly  beautiful  in  man  springs  from 
what  he  experiences  within  himself,  and  spontaneous- 
ly; every  heroic  action  is  inspired  by  moral  Ube:  v  : — 
the  act  of  deyoting  ourselves  to  the  divine  will,  that 
act  wiiich  every  sensation  opposes,  and  which  eothu- 
siasm  alone  inspires,  is  so  noble  and  so  pure,  that  the 
angels  themselves,  virtuous  as  they  are  by  nature,  and 
without  impediment,  mi^rht  envy  it  to  man. 

That  species  of  metaphysics  which  displaces 
centre  of  life,  by  supposing  its  impulse  to  come  from 
withcuty  despoils  man  of  his  liberty,  and  destroys  it- 
self :  for  a  spiritual  nature  no  longer  exists,  when  we 
unite  it  in  such  a  manner  to  a  corporeal  nature,  that 
it  is  only  by  consideration  for  i^eligious  opinion  we  con- 
sent to  distinguish  them :  such  a  system  shrinks  fron* 
its  own  consequences,  excepting  when  it  derives  from, 
them,  as  it  has  done  in  France,  materialism  buiit  up- 
on sensation,  and  moralitv  built  upon  interest.  The 
abstract  theory  of  this  system  was  born  in  England  ; 
but  none  of  its  consequences  have  been  admitted  there. 
In  France  they  have  not  had  the  honour  of  the  discov- 
ery, but  in  a  great  degree  that  of  the  application.  In 
Germany,  since  the  tiine  of  Leibnitz,  they  have  op= 
posed  the  system  and  its  consequences  ;  and,  assured- 
ly, it  is  worthy  of  enlightened  and  religious  men  of  ail 
countries,  to  inquire  if  those  principles,  whose  results 
are  so  £ita],  ought  to  be  considered  as  incontestable 
miths. 

Shaftesbury,  Hutcheson,  Sniith,  Reid,  Dugald  Stew- 
Sfft,  Sec.  have  studied  the  operations  of  tiie  human 
mind  with  a  rare  sagacity  i  the  works  of  Dugald  Stew- 
art in  particular  contain  so  perfect  a  theory  of  the  in- 
tellectuai  faculties,  that  we  may  consider  tliem,  to  use 
*he  expression,  as  the  natural  history  of  the  morai  be- 
5.    Every  individual  must  recognise  in  them  some 
:rtion  of  himself.    Whatever  opinion  we  may  have 
opted  as  to  the  origin  of  ideas,  we  must  acknowledge 
--".e  utility  of  a  labour  which  has  for  its  object  the  ex- 
amination of  their  progress  and  direction but  it  is 
VOL.  II.  L  2  -  - 


J  £6 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS, 


not  enough  to  observe  the  development  of  our  facul- 
ties, we  must  ascend  to  their  source,  in  order  to  give 
an  account  of  the  nature,  and  of  the  independence,  of 
the  will  of  man. 

We  cannot  consider  that  question  as  an  idle  one,, 
which  endeavours  to  learn  whether  the  soul  has  an  in- 
dependent faculty  of  feeling  and  of  thinking.  It  is  the 
question  of  Hamlet—^"  To  be,  or  not  to  be," 


FRENCH  PHILOSOPHr. 


127 


CHAPTER  III. 

Of  French  Philosophy, 


HeSCARTES,  for  a  Ion period,  was  at  the  head 
of  French  philosophers  ;  and  if  his  physics  had  not 
been  confessedly  erroneous,  perhaps  his  metaphysics 
would  have  preserved  a  more  lasting  ascendant.  Bos= 
suet,  Fenelon,  Pascal,  all  the  great  men  of  the  age 
of  Louis  XIV.  had  adopted  the  Idealism,  of  Descar= 
tes  :  and  this  system  agreed  much  better  with  the 
Catholic  religion  than  that  philosophy  which  is  purely 
experimental ;  for  it  appeared  singularly  difficult  to 
combine  a  faith  in  the  most  mysterious  doctrines  with 
the  sovereign  empire  of  sensation  over  the  soul. 

Among  the  French  metaphysicians  who  have  pro- 
fessed the  doctrine  of  Locke,  we  must  reckon,  in  the 
first  class,  Condillac,  whose  priestly  office  obliged  him 
to  use  some  caution  in  regard  to  religion  ;  and  Bonnet, 
who,  being  naturally  religious,  lived  at  Geneva;  in  a 
country  where  learning  and  piety  are  inseparable. 
These  two  philosophers,  Bonnet  especially,  have  es- 
tablished exceptions  in  favour  of  revelation  ;  but  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  that  one  of  the  causes  of  the  diminution 
of  respect  for  religion,  is  this  custom  of  setting  her 
apart  from  all  the  sciences  ;  as  if  philosophy,  reason- 
ing, every  thing,  in  short,  which  is  esteem.edin  earth= 
ly  affairs,  could  not  be  applied  to  religion  :  an  ironical 
veneration  removes  her  to  a  distance  from  ail  the  in- 
terests of  life  'y  it  is,  if  we  may  so  express  ourselves, 
to  bov/  her  out  of  the  circle  of  the  human  mind.  In 
every  country,  where  a  religious  belief  is  predominant, 
it  is  the  centre  of  ideas ;  and  philosophy  consists  in  the 
rational  interpretation  of  divine  truths. 

When  Descartes  wrote.  Bacon's  philosophy  had  not 
yet  penetrated  iino  France  \  and  that  country  was  then 


12B 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


in  the  same  state  of  scholastic  ignorance  and  supersti- 
tion as  at  the  epoch  when  the  great  English  master  of 
the  art  of  thinking  published  his  works.  There  are 
two  methods  of  correcting  the  prejudices  of  men — the 
recourse  to  experience,  and  the  appeal  to  reflection. 
Bacon  adop  ed  the  first  means  ;  Descartes  the  second. 
The  one  has  rendered  immense  service  to  the  sciences ; 
the  other  to  thought  itself,  which  is  the  source  of  all 
the  sciences. 

Bacon  was  a  man  of  much  greater  genius,  and  of 
still  ampler  learning,  than  Descartes.  He  has  known 
how  to  establish  his  philosophy  in  the  material  world  : 
that  of  Descartes  was  brought  into  discredit  by  the 
learned,  who  attacked  with  success  his  opinions  upon 
the  system  of  the  worid  :  he  could  reason  justly  ia 
the  examination  of  the  mind,  and  deceived  himself  in 
relation  to  the  physical  laws  of  the  universe:  but  the 
opinions  of  men  resting  almost  entirely  upon  a  blind 
and  precipitate  confidence  in  analogy,  they  believed 
that  he  who  had  observed  so  ill  what  passed  without 
him,  was  no  better  instructed  as  to  the  world  within. 
In  his  manner  of  writing,  Descartes  shows  a  simpli- 
city and  overflowing  goodness  of  nature,  which  inspires 
his  readers  with  confidence  ;  and  the  energy  of  his 
genius  will  not  be  contested.  Nevertheless,  when  we 
compare  him  either  to  the  German  philosophers  or  to 
Plato,  we  can  neither  find  in  his  works  the  theory  of 
idealism  in  all  its  abstraction,  nor  the  poetical  imagin- 
ation, which  constitutes  its  beauty.  Yet  a  ray  of  light 
had  passed  over  the  mind  of  Descartes,  and  his  is  the 
glory  of  having  directed  the  philosophy  of  his  day  to- 
wards the  interior  development  of  the  soul.  He  pro- 
duced a  great  effect  by  referring  all  received  truths  to 
the  test  of  reflection  :  these  axioms  were  admired — ^"  I 
«  think,  therefore  I  exist ;  therefore  I  have  a  Creator, 
«  the  perfect  source  of  my  imperfect  faculties  :  every 
"  thing  without  us  may  be  called  in  question  :  truth  is 
«  only  in  the  mind,  and  the  mind  is  the  supreme  judge 
«  of  truth." 

Universal  doubt  is  the  A  B  C  of  philosophy :  every 
man  begins  to  reason  again  by  thg  aid  of  his  own  native 


FKENCH  PHILOSOPHY, 


129 


Kg-ht,  when  he  attempts  to  ascend  to  the  princinles  of 
things  ;  but  the  authoaty  of  Aristotle  had  so  complete- 
ly introduced  the  dogmatic  method  into  Europe,  that 
the  age  was  astonished  at  the  boldness  of  Descartes, 
who  submitted  all  opinions  to  natural  judgment. 

The  Port  Royal  writers  w^ere  formed  in  his  school  ; 
so  that  France  produced  men  of  a  severer  turn  of 
thought  in  the  seventeenth  than  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. At  the  side  of  their  graceful  and  engaging  genius 
appeared  a  certain  gravity,  which  betrayed  the  natural 
influence  of  a  system  of  philosophy  that  attributed  ail 
our  ideas  to  the  power  of  reflection. 

Mallcbranche^  the  principal  disciple  of  Descartes, 
Was  a  man  gifted  with  the  energies  of  niind  in  an  emi- 
ner.t  degree.  They  have  been  pleased  to  consider  him 
as  a  dreamer  in  the  eighteenth  century ;  and  in  France 
it  is  all  over  with  that  v/riter  who  has  the  character  o£ 
a  dreamer  ;  for  it  implies  the  idea  of  total  inutility  as 
to  the  purposes  of  life,  and  this  is  peculiarly  offensive 
to  all  reasonable  .persons,  as  they  are  entitled  but 
this  word  Utility — is  it  quite  noble  enough  to  be  appii* 
ed  to  all  the  cravings  of  the  soul  ? 

The  French  writers  of  the  eighteenth  century  ex- 
celled mo>.t  in  tne  study  of  pcliticai  liberty;  those  of 
the  seventeenth  in  the  study  of  moral  liberty.  The  phi- 
losophers of  the  one  period  were  combatants;  of  the 
other  anchorets.  Under  a.n  absolute  government,  like 
that  of  Louis  the  XlVth,  independence  finds  no  asy- 
lum but  in  meditation:  in  the  disorderly  reigns  of  the 
last  century,  the  men  of  letters  were  animated  with 
the  desire  of  winning  over  tne  government  of  their 
country  to  the  liberal  principles  and  ideas  of  which 
England  dispiayed  so  fair  an  example  The  writers 
who  have  not  gone  beyond  this  point,  are  very  deserv- 
ing of  the  esteem  of  their  countrymen  ;  but  it  is  not  the 
less  true,  that  the  works  composed  in  the  seventeenth 
century  are  more  philosophical,  in  many  respects,  than 
those  which  have  since  been  published  ;  for  pniioso° 
phy  especially  consists  in  the  study  and  the  know- 
ledge of  our  intellectual  existence. 

The  p--.ilo3ophers  of  the  eighteenth  century  have 
busied  themselves- rather  v/ith  social  politics  than  with. 


130 


PHILOSOPHY  ANT)  MORALS. 


the  primitive  nature  of  man  ;  those  of  the  seventeentB 
century,  solely  and  precisely  from  their  being  religious 
men,  had  a  more  thorough  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart.  During  the  decline  of  the  French  monarchy, 
the  philosophers  turned  the  direction  of  thought,  which 
they  used  as  a  weapon,  to  what  was  passing  without 
them  :  under  the  empire  of  Louis  the  XlVth,  they  were 
more  attached  to  the  ideal  metaphysics,  because  the 
exercise  of  recollection  was  more  habitual  to  them, 
and  they  had  more  occasion  for  it.  In  order  to  raise 
the  French  genius  to  its  highest  degree  of  perfection^ 
it  would  be  requisite  to  learn,  from  the  writers  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  how  to  use  our  faculties  to  advan- 
tage ;  and  from  those  of  the  seventeenth,  how  to  study 
their  source. 

Descartes,  Pascal,  and  Mallebranche,  had  much 
more  resemblance  to  the  German  philosophers  than 
the  French  v/riters  of  the  eighteenth  century  ;  but 
Maiiebranche  and  the  Germans  differ  in  this,  that  the 
one  lays  down  as  an  article  of  faith  what  ihe  others  re- 
duce into  a  scientific  theory: — the  one  aims  at  clothing 
the  forms  inspired  by  his  imagination  in  a  dogmatic 
dress,  because  he  is  afraid  of  being  accused  of  enthu- 
siasm ;  while  the  others,  writing  at  the  end  of  an  sera 
when  analysis  has  been  extended  to  every  object  of  study, 
know  that  they  are  enthusiasts,  and  are  solely  anxious 
to  prove  that  reason  and  enthusiasm  are  of  one  accord. 

If  the  French  had  followed  the  metaphysical  bias  of 
their  great  men  of  the  seventeenth  century,  they  would 
now  have  entertained  the  same  opinion  as  the  Ger» 
mans  ;  for  in  the  progress  of  philosophy  Leibnitz  is 
the  natural  successor  of  Descartes  and  Mallebranche^ 
and  Kant  of  Leibnitz. 

England  had  gre2.t  influence  over  the  writers  of  the 
eighteenth  century  ;  the  admiration  which  they  felt  fc? 
that  country  inspired  them  with  the  wish  of  introducing 
into  France  her  liberty  and  her  philosophy.  English 
philosophy  v/as  then  only  void  of  danger  when  united 
with  the  religious  sentiments  of  that  people,  with  theie 
liberty,  and  with  their  obedienge  to  the  laws.  In 
the  bosom  of  a  nation  v/here  Newton  and  Clarke 


FEENCH  PHILOSOPHY. 


131 


never  pronounced  the  name  of  God  without  bowing 
their  heads,  let  the  metaphysical  systems  have  been 
ever  so  erroneous,  they  could  not  be  fatal.  That 
which  is  every  way  wanting  in  France,  is  the  feeling 
and  habit  of  veneration  ;  and  the  transition  is  there 
very  quick  from  the  examination  which  may  enlighten 
to  the  irony  which  reduces  every  thing  to  dust. 

It  seems  to  me  that  we  may  observe  two  perfectly 
distinct  epochs  in  the  eighteenth  century;  that  in 
which  the  influence  of  England  was  first  acknowledg- 
ed, and  that  in  which  the  men  of  genius  hurried  them- 
selves into  destruction  :  light  was  then  changed  to  con- 
flagration ;  and  Philosophy,  like  an  enraged  enchantress, 
set  fire  to  the  palace  where  she  had  displayed  her 
wonders. 

In  politics,  Montesquieu  belongs  to  the  first  epoch, 
Raynal  to  the  second  :  in  religion,  the  writings  of  Vol- 
taire, which  had  the  defence  of  toleration  for  their 
object,  breathed  the  spirit  of  the  first  half  of  the  cen- 
tury;  but  his  pitiable  and  ostentatious  irreligion  has 
been  the  disgrace  of  the  second.  Fnially,  in  metaphy- 
sics, Condiiiac  and  Helvetius,  although  they  were  con- 
temporaries, both  carry  about  them  the  impression  of 

:  these  very  different  seras ;  for,  although  the  entire 
system  of  the  philosophy  of  sensation  was  wrong  in  its 
principle,  yet  the  consequences  v/hich  Helvetius  has 

I  drawn  from  it  ought  not  to  be  imputed  to  Condiiiac; 
he  vv'as  far  from  assenting  to  them. 

CoLdillac  has  rendered  experimental  metaphysics 
more  clear  and  more  striking  than  they  are  in  Locke: 
he  has  truly  levelled  them  to  the  con> prehension  of  ail 
the  \yorld  :  he  says,  with  Locke,  that  the  soul  can  have 
no  idea  which  does  not  come  in  from  sensation ;  he  at- 
tributes to  our  wants  the  origin  of  knowledge  and  of 
language  ;  to  words,  that  of  reflection  :  and  thus,  ma- 
king us  receive  the  entire  development  of  our  moral 
being  from  external  objects,  he  explains  human  na- 
ture as  he  would  a  positive  science,  in  a  clear,  rapid, 
and  in  some  respects  convincing  mar.nei  ;  for  if  we  nei- 
ther feit  in  our  hearts  the  native  irt. pulses  of  beiief, 
nor  a  conscience  independent  of  experience,  nor  a 


132 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


©reating  spirit,  in  all  the  force  of  the  term,  we  might 
be  well  enough  contented  with  this  mechanical  defiai* 
tion  of  the  human  soul.  It  is  natural  to  be  seduced 
by  the  easy  solution  of  the  greatest  of  problems  ;  but 
this  apparent  simplicity  exists  only  in  the  mode  cf  in- 
quiry; the  object  to  which  it  is  pretendingly  applied, 
does  not  the  less  continue  of  an  unknown  immensity  ; 
and  the  ssnigma  of  ourselves  swallows  up,  like  the 
sphinx,  thousands  of  systems  whidi  pretend  to  the 
glory  of  having  guessed  its  meaning. 

Tiie  v/ork  of  Condillac  ought  only  to  be  considered 
as  another  book  on  an  inexhaustible  subject,  if  the 
influence  of  this  book  had  not  been  fatal.  Helvetius, 
who  deduces  from  the  philosophy  of  sensations  ail  the 
direct  consequences  which  it  can  admit,  asserts,  that 
if  the  hands  of  man  had  been  made  like  the  hoofs  of 
the  horse,  he  would  only  have  possessed  the  intelii-  ^ 
gence  of  this  animal.  Assured!),  if  the  case  was  so, 
it  would  be  very  unjust  to  atuibute  to  ourselves  any 
thing  biameable  or  me)  itorious  in  our  actions  ;  for  the 
difference  v/hich  may  exist  between  the  several  or- 
ganizations of  individuals,  w^ould  authorize  and  be  the 
proper  cause  of  the  difference  in  their  characters. 

To  the  opinions  of  Helvetius  succeeded  those  of 
the  System  of  Nature,  which  tended  to  the  anninila- 
tion  of  the  Deity  in  the  universe,  and  of  free  will  in 
man.  LockCj  Condillac,  Helvetius,  anci  the  unhappy 
author  of  the  System  of  Nature,  have  all  progres- 
sively advanced  in  the  same  path  :  the  first  steps  were 
innocent ;  neither  Locke  nor  Condillac  knew  the  dan- 
gers of  their  phiic^sophy  ;  but  very  soon  this  black 
spot,  w^hich  was  iiardiy  visible  in  the  intellectual  hori-" 
zon,  grew  to  such  a  size  as  to  be  near  piunging  the 
universe  and  man  back  again  into  darkness. 

External  objects,  it  was  said,  are  the  cause  of  all 
our  impressions  ;  nothing  then  appears  more  agreea- 
ble than  to  give  ourselves  up  to  the  physical  world,  and 
to  come,  seif -invited  guests,  to  the  banquet  of  nature; 
but  by  degrees  the  internal  source  is  dried  up,  and 
even  as  to  the  imaginati  n  that  is  requisite  for  luxu ry 
and  pleasure,  it  goes  on  decaying  to  such  a  degree, 


FREXCH  PHILOSO'PHY. 


133 


that  very  shortly  mc".n  will  not  retain  soul  enough 
$0  reiish  any  enjoyment,  of  however  material  a  na- 
ture. 

The  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  sentiment  of 
duty,  are  suppositions  entirely  gratuitous  in  the  sys- 
tem which  grounds  all  our  ideas  upon  our  sensations  : 
for  no  sensation  reveals  to  us  immortality  in  death.  If 
external  object-s  alone  have  formed  our  conscience, 
from  the  nurse  who  receives  us  in  her  arms  until  the 
last  act  of  an  advanced  old  age,  all  our  impressions 
are  so  linked  to  each  ether,  that  we  cannot  ari-aign 
with  justice  the  pretended  power  of  volition,  which  is 
only  another  instance  of  fatality. 

-I  shall  endeavour  to  show,  in  the  second  part  of  this 
section,  that  the  moral  system,  which  is  built  upo:?. 
interest,  so  strenuously  preached  up  by  the  French 
writers  of  the  last  age,  has  an  intimate  connexioii 
with  that  species  of  metaphysics  which  attributes  all 
our  ideas  to  our  sensations,  and  that  the  consequences 
of  the  one  are  as  bad  in  practice,  as  those  of  the  other 
in  theory.  Those  w^ho  have  been  able  to  read  the  li-^ 
centious  works  published  in  France  towards  the  close 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  will  bear  witness,  that 
when  the  writers  of  these  culpable  performances  at- 
tem.pt  to  support  thcm.seives  upon  any  species  of  rea- 
soning, they  ail  appeal  to  the  infiuence  of  our  physic- 
al over  our  moral  constitution  ;  they  refer  to  our  sen- 
sations for  the  origm  of  every  the  most  blameable 
opinion,  they  exhibit,  in  short,  under  ail  appearan- 
ces, the  doctrine  which  destroys  free  will  and  con- 
■science. 

We  cannot  deny,  it  may  be  said,  that  this  is  a  de- 
grading doctrine ;  but,  nevertheless,  if  it  be  true, 
•must  we  reject  it,  and  blind  ourselves  on  purpose  ? — 
Assuredly  t!iose  writers  v/ouldhave  made  a  deplorable 
-discovers,  who  had  dethroned  the  soul,  and  condemn- 
ed the  mind  to  sacrifice  herself,  by  employing  all  her 
-faculties  to  prove,  tnat  the  laws  whicn  are  common  to 
every  physical  existence  agree  also  to  her — but,  thanks 
-be  to  God  (ana  tnis  expression  is  here  in  its  pecuiiar 
place),  tnanks  be  to  Gou,  I  sav,  this  svstem  is  entire* 

VOL.  ir.  M  ' 


134 


PHH^OSOPHY  AND  MORALS, 


ly  false  in  its  principle ;  and  the  circumstance  of  those 
writers  espousing  it  who  have  supported  the  cause  of 
immorality,  is  an  additional  proof  of  the  errors  which 
it  contains. 

If  the  greater  part  of  the  profligate  have  upheld 
themselves  by  the  doctrine  of  materialism,  when  they 
have  wished  to  become  degraded  according  to  method, 
and  to  form  a  theory  of  their  actions,  it  is  because 
th=.y  believed  that,  by  submitting  the  soul  to  sensation, 
they  would  thus  be  delivered  from  the  responsibility  of 
their  conduct.  A  virtuous  being,  convinced  ol  this 
doctrine,  would  be  deeply  afflicted  by  it;  for  he  would 
incessantly  fear  that  the  all-powerful  influence  of  ex- 
ternal objects  would  change  the  purity  of  his  soul, 
and  the  force  of  his  resolutions.  But  when  we  see 
ncien  rejoicing  to  proclaim  themselves  the  creatures  of 
circumstances  in  all  respects,  and  declaring  that  all 
these  circumstances  are  combined  by  chance,  we  shud- 
der from  our  very  hearts  at  their  perverse  satisfaction. 

When  the  savage  sets  fire  to  a  cottage,  he  is  said 
to  warm  himself  with  pleasure  at  the  conflagration 
-which  he  has  kindled;  he  exercises  at  least  a  sort  of 
superiority  over  the  disorder  of  which  he  is  guilty  ; 
he  makes  destruction  of  some  use  to  him:  but  when 
man  chooses  to  degrade  human  nature,  v/ho  will  thus 
be  profited  ? 


FSEXCH  PHILOSOPHY. 


135 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Of  the  Ridicule  hitroduced  by  a  certain  Species  cf  Phi- 
losophy. 


The  philosophical  system,  adopted  in  any  country, 
exerts  a  great  influence  over  the  direction  of  mind  ;  it 
is  the  universal  model  after  which  all  thought  is  cast ; 
— those  persons  even,  who  have  not  studied  the  sys- 
tem, conform,  unknov^-ingly,  to  the  general  disposition 
which  it  inspires.  We  have  seen  tor  nearly  a  hundred 
years  past,  in  Europe,  the  growth  and  increase  of  a 
sort  of  scoffing  scepticism,  the  foundation  of  wmich  is 
the  species  of  metaphysics  that  attributes  all  our  ideas 
to  our  sensations.  The  first  principle  in  this  philoso- 
phy is,  not  to  believe  any  thing  vrhich  cannot  be  proved 
like  a  fact  or  a  calculation  :  in  union  with  this  princi- 
ple is  contempt  for  all  tha.t  bears  the  name  of  exalted 
sentiment ;  and  attachment  to  the  pleasures  of  sense. 
These  three  points  of  the  doctrine  include  all  the  sorts 
of  irony,  ot  which  religion,  sensibility,  and  morals,  can 
become  the  object. 

Bayle,  whose  learned  Dictionary  is  hardly  read  by 
people  of  the  vrorld,  is  nevertheless  the  arsenal  from 
which  ail  the  pleasantries  of  scepticism  have  been 
drawn  ;  Voltaire  has  given  them  a  pungency  by  his  wit 
and  elegance  ;  but  the  foundation  of  all  this  jesting  is, 
that  every  thing,  not  as  evident  as  a  physical  cxperi- 
iiient,  ought  to  be  reckoned  in  the  number  of  dreams 
and  idle  thoughts.  It  is  good  management  to  dignify 
an  incapacity  for  attention  by  calling  it  a  supreme  sort 
of  reason,  which  rejects  all  doubt  and  obscurity  ; — in 
consequence,  they  turn  the  noblest  th.oughts  into  ridi- 
cule, if  reilection  is  necessary  to  comprehend  them, 
or  a  sincere  exaiTiination  of  the  heart  to  make  them 
felt»    We  still  speak  with  respect  of  Pascal,  of  Bos- 


136 


PHiLGSOPlIY  AND  MORia^S. 


suet,  of  J.J.  Rousseau,  S;:c.;  because  authority  Bas* 
consecrated  them,  and  authority,  of  every  sort  is  a 
thino;  easily  discerned-. 

But  a  great  number  of  readers  being  convinced  that 
Jgnorance  and  idleness  are  the  attributes  of  a  man  of 
wit,  think  it  beneath  tbem  to  take  any  trouble,  and 
Vvish  to  read,  like  a  paragraph  in  a  nev/spaper,  wri- 
tings that  have  man  and  nature  for  their  subject. 

In  a  vv  ord,  if  by  chance  such  writings  v»'ere  compos- 
ed by  a  German,  v/hose  name  was  not  a  French  one,^ 
and  it  was  as  difficult  to  pronounce  this  narme  as  that  of 
the  Baron  in  Candide,  what  collections  of  pleasantries 
would  not  be  formed  upon  this  circumstance  !  and  the 
naeaning  of  them  aii  would  be  the  follovv'ing  :  "  I  have 
"  grace  and  lightness  of  spirit ;  wJiile  you,  who  have 
«  the  misfortune  to  think  upon  s©me  subjects,  and  to 

hold  by  some  sentiments,  you  do  not  jest  upon  all 
"  with  nearly  the  same  elegance  and  facility." 

The  philosophy  of  sensation  is  one  of  the  principal 
causes  of  this  frivolity.  Since  the  time  that  tlie  soul 
iias  been  considered  passive,  a  great  number  ol  philo- 
tiophical  labours  have  been  despised. 

The  day  on  which  it  was  said,.- there  are  no  myste- 
ries in  the  world,  or  at  ail  events  it  is  unnecessary  to 
think  about  them  ;  all  our  ideas  come  by  tlie  eyes  and 
by  the  cars,  and  the  palpable  only  is  the  true; — on  that 
day  the  individuals  who  enjoyed  all  their  senses  in  per^- 
lect  health  believed  themselves  the  genuine  phiioso- 
pht'i^s.  We  hear  it  incessantly  said,  by  those  who 
have  ideas  enough  to  get  money  when  they  are  poor, 
una  to  spend  it  when  they  are  richj-  that  they  only  pos* 
sess  a  reasonable  philosophy,  and  that  none  but  en- 
thusiasts wi.uld  dre?vm  of  any  other.  In  effect,  our 
sensations  teach  this  philosopliy  alone;  and  if  we  can 
gain  no  knowledge  except  by  their  means,,  every  thing 
that  is  not  subject  to  the  evidence  of.  matter  must  bear 
the  narae  of  foiiy. 

If  it  was  admitted,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  sou]  acts 
by  itsetf,  and  that  v/e  must  dsaw  up  information  out  ef 
oui  seives  to  find  the  tiulh,  and  that  this  truth  cannot 
be  seized  upoUj  except  by  the  aid  cf  profound  medita.-- 


FRENCH  PHILOSOPHY. 


137 


tiorj,  because  it  is  not  %vithin  the  ranQ,-e  of  terrestrial 
experience  ;  the  whole  course  of  men's  minds  would 
be  changed  ;  they  would  not  disdahifully  reject  the 
most  sublime  thoughts,  because  they  demand  a  close 
attention  ;  but  that  which  they  found  insupportable 
would  be  the  superficial  and  the  common  ;  for  empti- 
ness grows  at  length  sin.^ularly  burthensome. 

Voltaire  so  well  perceived  the  influence  that  meta- 
physics exercise  over  the  general  bias  of  the  mind,  that 
he  wrote  Candide,  to  combat  Leibnitz.  He  took  up  a 
curious  v/him  against  final  causes,  optimism,  free-will ; 
in  short,  against  all  the  philosophical  opinions  that  ex- 
alt ;.he  dignity  of  man  ;  and  he  composed  Candide,  that 
effort  of  a  diabolical  gaiety;  for  it  appears  to  be  writ- 
ten by  a  being  of  a  different  nature  from  ourselves,  in- 
sensiole  to  our  condition,  well  pleased  with  our  suf- 
ferings, and  laughing;  like  a  dsemon  or  an  ape,  at  the 
miseries  of  that  human  species,  with  which  he  has  no- 
thing in  common. 

Tiie  greatest  poet  of  the  age,  the  author  of  Alzire, 
Tancrede,  Merope,  Zaire,  and  Brutus,  showed  him- 
seli  h]  this  work  ignorant  of  all  the  great  moral  truths, 
whicn  he  had  so  worthily  celebrated. 

When  Voltaire,  as  a  tragic  author,  felt  and  thought 
in  the  Character  of  another,  he  vras  admirable  ;  but, 
when  he  remahis  wholly  himself,  he  is  a  jester  and  a 
cynic.  The  same  versatility,  which  enabled  him  to 
adopt  the  part  of  the  pers'  nages  whom  he  wished  ta 
represent,  only  too  well  inspired  the  language  which,  in 
certain  moments,  was  suited  to  Voltaire, 

Candide  brings  into  action  that  scofiing  philosophy, 
so  indulgent  in  appearance,  in  reality  so  ferocious  ;  'it 
presents  num<m  nature  under  the  most  laraei.tabie 
point  of  view,  and  offers  us,  in  the  room  of  every  con^ 
soiation,  the  sardonic  grin,  which  frees  us  from  all 
compassion  for  others,  by  making  us  renounce  it  for 
ourselves. 

^  It  js  in  consequence  of  this  system  that  Voltaire,  in 
Lis  Universal  fiisiory,  has  aimed  at  attributing  virtu-- 
oub  actions,  as  well  as  great  crimes,  to  those  ai-cide.n- 
VOL.  II.  ^,1^ 


138 


PIITLOSOPHY  AND  MOEAXS; 


tal  events  which  deprive  the  former  of  all  their  merits . 
and  the  latter  of  all  their  guilt. 

In  effect,  if  there  is  nothing  in  the  soul  but  what  our 
sensations  have  imprinted  upon  it,  we  ought  no  longer 
to  recognise  more  than  two  real  and  lasting  motives- 
on  earth-^ — strength  applied  to  the  agent,  and  the  desire 
of  well  being  ;  in  other  words,  the  law  of  tactics,  and 
the  law  of  appetite  :  but  if  the  mind"  is  still  to  be  con-=' 
sidered  such  as  it  has  been  formed  by  modern  philoso- 
phy, it  would  very  soon  be  reduced  to  wish  that  some- 
thing of  an  exalted  nature  would  reappear,  in  order 
at  least  to  furnish  it  with  an  object  for  exercise  and  for 
attack. 

The  Stoics  have  often  repeated  that  we  ought  to 
brave  all  the  assaults  of  fortune,  and  only  to  trouble 
ourselves  with  v/hat  depends  upon  the  soul,  upon  our 
sentiments  and  our  thoughts.  The  philosophy  of  sen» 
sation  would  have  a  totally  opposite  result;  it  would^ 
disembarrass  us  from  our  feelings  and  thoughts,  with 
the  design  of  turning  our  efforts  towards  our  physical 
well-being  :  she  would  say  to  us- — "  Attach  yourselves 
to  the  present  moment ;  consider  as  a  chimera  every 
"  tiiing  which  wanders  out  of  the  circle  of  the  plea- 
"  sures  and  affairs  of  this  v.'orld,  and  pass  your  short  . 
"  career  of  iife,  as  well  as  you  may,  taking  care  of  your 
health,  which  is  the  foundation  of  happiness."  These 
iTiaxims  have  been  known  in  ail  times  ^  but  they  were 
thought  to  be  the  exclusive  property  of  valets  in  com- 
edies ;  and  in  our  days  they  have  been  made  the  doc- 
trine of  reason,  founded  upon  necessity;  a  doctrine 
very  different  from  that  of  religious  resignation,  for 
the  one  is  as  vulgar  as  the  other  is  nobie  and  exalted. 

The  singularity  of  the  attempt  consists  in  deducing 
the  tiieory  of  elegance  from  so  plebeian  a  philosophy;. 
our  poor  nature  is  often  low  and  seifish,  as  we  must  . 
grieve  to  confess  ;  but  it  was  novel  enough  to  boast  of  ^ 
it.    Indifference  and  contempt  for  exalted  subjects  are 
become  the  type  of  the  graceful ;  and  witiicisms  -'-^^WM 
been  levelled  against  those  who  lake  a  Tivc  jL^icreim 
in  any  thing,  which  is  without  a  positive  result  in  the 
present  world,  . 


FRE^'CH  PHILOSOPHY. 


139 


The  arg'iiQientative  principle  of  this  frivolity  of  heart 
and  mind,  is  the  metaphysical  doctrine  which  refers 
all  our  ideas  to  our  sensations  ;  for  nothing  but  the 
superficial  conies  to  us  from  without,  and  the  serious- 
ness of  life  dwells  at  the  bottom  of  the  soul.  If  the 
fatality  of  materialism,  admitted  as  a  theory  of  the 
human  mind,  led  to  a  distaste  for  every  thing  external, 
as  well  as  to  a  disbelief  of  all  within  us  ;  there  would 
still  be  something  in  this  system,  of  an  ina.ctive  noble» 
ness,  of  an  oriental  indolence,  which  might  lay  claim 
to  a  sort  of  grandeur  ; — and  some  of  the  Greek  phi- 
losophers have  found  means  to  infuse  almost  a  dignity 
intcrapathy  ;  but  the  empire  of  sensation,  wnile  it  has 
weakened  sentiment  by  degrees,  has  left  the  activity 
of  personal  interest  in  full  force ;  and  this  spring  of 
action  has  become  so  much  the  more  powerful,  as  all 
the  others  have  been  broken  into  pieces.  To  incredu- 
lity  of  mind,  to  selfishness  of  heart,  must  still  be  ad- 
ded the  doctrine  concerning  conscience,  which  Hel- 
vetius  developed,  when  he  asserted,  that  actions  virtu= 
Gus  in  themselves  had  for  their  object  the  attainment 
of  those  physical  enjoyments  which  we  can  taste  here 
below  :  it  has  followed  from  hence,  that  sacrifices 
made  to  the  ideal  worship  of  any  opinion,  or  any  sen- 
timent whatever,  have  been  considered  as  if  those  who 
offer  them  v/ere  dupes;  and  as  men  dread  nothing 
more  than  passing  for  dupes,  they  have  been  eager  to 
cast  iidicuie  upon  every  sort  of  unsuccessful  enthusi= 
asHi  ;  for  that  which  has  been  recompensed  with  good 
fortune,  has  escaped  raillery  :  success  is  always  in  the 
right  with  tiie  advocates  of  materialism^ 

The  dogmatic  incredulity,  that,  namely,  which  calls 
in  question  the  truth  of  every  thing  that  is  not  proved 
by  the  senses,  is  the  source  of  the  chief  irony  of  man 
ac^ainst  himself :  ail  moral  degradation  comes  from 
that  quarter. — That  philosophy,  doubtless,  ought  to  be 
considered  an  effect,  as  well  as  a  cause,  of  the  present 
state  of  public  feeling  ;  nevertheless,  there  is  an  evil 
of  which  it  is  the  principal  author  ;  it  has  given  to  the 
carci  bsness  of  .evity  the  appearance  of  reflective  rea- 
sonii)g  5  it  has  farDisiied  selEsnn^ss  with  specious  jr- 


240 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


guments  ;  and  has  made  the  most  noble  sentiments  be 
considered  as  an  accidental  malady,  caused  by  external 
circumstances  alone. 

It  is  of  consequence  then  to  examine  whether  the 
nation,  which  has  constantly  guarded  itself  against  the 
metaphysical  system,  from  which  such  inferences  have 
been  drawn,  was  not  right  in  its  principle,  and  still 
more  so  in  the  application  which  it  has  made  of  that 
principle,  to  the  devejopment  of  the  faculties  of  ma% 
and  to  his  moral  conduct. 


©EllJf  AX  PHILGSOPfiY. 


UI 


CHAPTER  V. 

General  Observations  ufion  German  Philascfihij - 


SPECULATIVE  philosophy  has  always  found  nil- 
inerous  parti'^ans  among  the  German  nations,  and  ex- 
perimental philosophy  among  those  of  Latin  extraction. 
The  Romans,  expert  as  they  were  in  the  affairs  of  life^ 
•were  no  metaphysicians;  they  knew  nothing  of  this 
siibj-.ct,  except  by  their  connexion  with  Greece  ;  and 
the  nations  civilized  by  them,  have,  for  the  most  part, 
inherited  their  kHOv/ledge  in  politics,  and  their  indif- 
ference for  those  studies  vvhich  cannot  be  applied  to  tlie 
business  of  the  vvorld'.  This  disposition  shows  itself 
in  France  in  its  greatest  streiigth  ;  the  Italians- and  the 
Spaniards  have  partaken  of  it ;  but  the  imagination  of 
the  South  has  sometimes  deviated  from  practical  rca^ 
son,  to  employ  itself  in  theories  purely  abstract. 

The  greatness  of  soul  that  appeared  among  the 
Romans,  gave  a  sublime  character  to  their  patriotism 
and  tiicir  morals  ;  but  this  consequence  must  be  attri« 
b'dteci  to  their  repubiican  institutions.  When  liberty- 
no  longer  existed  in  Rome,  a  selfish  and  sensuai  lux- 
ury vras  seen  to  reign  there,  v.  ith  almost  an  undivi-led 
emplre;  excepting  that  of  an  adroit  sort  of  political 
knowledge,  which  directed  every  mJnd  towards  obser- 
vation and  experience.  The  Romans  retained  nothing 
CI  their  past  study  of  Grecian  literature  and  philoso« 
phy  but  a  taste  for  the  arts  ;  and  this  taste  itself  ver^f 
soon  degenerated  into  gross  enjoyments. 

The  inBucnce  of  Rome  did  not  exert  itself  over  the 
northern  nations.  Tliey  were  almost  entirely  civilized 
by  Christianity  ; — and  their  ancient  religion,  Vv'hich 
contained  v;ithin  it  the  principles  of  chivalry,  bore  na 
resemblance  to  the  Paganism  of  the  South.  There 
was  lobe  i^ciuid  a  spirit  of  hercical  ?vnd  generous  seff> 


142 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


devotion  ;  an  enthusiasm  for  women,  which  made  a 
noble  worship  of  love  ;  in  a  word,  as  the  rigours  of 
the  climate  prevented  man  from  plunging  himself  into 
the  delights  of  nature,  he  had  so  much  the  keener 
relish  for  the  pleasures  of  the  soul. 

It  may  be  objected  to  me,  that  the  Greeks  had  the  same 
religion  and  the  same  climate  as  the  Romans  ;  and  that 
yet  they  have  given  themselves  up  more  than  any  other 
people  to  speculative  philosophy  ;  but  may  we  not 
attribute  to  the  Ii.dians  some  of  the  intellectual  sys- 
tem^ developed  among  the  Greeks  ?  The  ideal  philoso- 
phy of  Pythagoras  and  Plato  ill  agrees  with  Paganisms- 
such  as  it  appears  to  us  ;  historical  traditions  also  lead 
lis  to  believe  that  Egypt  was  the  medium  through 
which  the  nations  of  southern  Europe  received  the  in- 
fluence of  the  East.  The  philosophy  of  Epicurus  is 
the  only  philosophy  of  truiy  Grecian  origin. 

Whatever  may  become  of  these  conjectures,  it  is 
certain  that  the  spirituality  of  the  soul,  and  ail  the 
thoughts  derived  from  it,  have  been  easily  naturalized 
simong  the  people  of  the  North  ;  and  of  all  these  na- 
tions, the  Germans  have  ever  showed  themselves  the 
most  inclined  to  contemplative  philosophy.  Leibnitz 
is  their  Bacon  and  their  Descartes.  We  find  in  this 
excellent  genius  all  the  qualities  which  the  German 
philosophers  in  general  glory  to  aim  at :  immense 
erudition,  perfect  good  faith,  enthusiasm  hidden  under 
strict  form  and  method.  He  had  profoundly  studied 
theology,  jurisprudence,  history,  languages,  math- 
ematics, natural  philosophy,  chemistry  for  he  was 
convinced  that  an  universality  of  knowledge  was  neces- 
sary to  constitute  a  supeiior  being  in  any  department  : 
in  short,  every  thing  in  Leibnitz  displayed  those  vir- 
tues which  are  allied  to  sublimity  of  thought,  and 
%vhich  deserve  at  once  our  admiration  and  our  respect. 

His  works  may  be  divided  into  three  branches— the 
exact  sciences,  theological  philosophy,  and  the  philos- 
ophy of  the  mind.  Every  one  knows  that  Leibintz 
was  the  rival  of  Newton,  in  the  theory  of  calculation. 

The  knowledge  of  n;athematics  is  very  useful  in 
metaphysical  studies;  abstract  reasoning^ does  not  ex.- 


GERMAN  PHILOSOPirr, 


143 


ist  in  perfection  out  of  algebra  and  geometry  ;  I  shall 
endeavour  to  show  in  another  place  the  unsuitableness 
of  this  sort  of  reasoning,  when  we  attempt  to  exercise 
it  upon  a  subject  that  is  allied  in  any  manner  to  sensi- 
bility ;  but  it  confers  upon  the  human  m.ind  a  power  of 
attention,  that  reixlers  it  much  more  capable  of  ai^alys- 
ing  itself :  we  must  also  knov/  the  la\ys  and  the  forces 
of  the  universe,  to  study  man  under  all  his  relations. 
There  is  such  an  analogy,  and  such  a  difference,  be- 
tween the  physical  and  the  moral  Vv'orld,  their  resem.- 
blances  and  their  diversity  lend  each  other  such  light, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  be  a  learned  man  of  the  first 
rank  without  the  assistance  of  speculative  philosophy, 
nor  a  speculative  philosopher  without  having  studied 
the  positive  sciences. 

Locke  and  Condillac  had  not  sufficiently  attended  to 
these  sciences;  but  Leibnitz  had  in  this  respect  an  in- 
contestable superiority  Descartes  also  was  a  very 
great  mathematician  ;  and  it  is  to  be  remarked,  that 
the  greater  part  of  the  advocates  for  the  ideal  philoso- 
phy have  inade  an  unbounded  use  of  their  intellectual 
faculties.  The  exercise  of  the  mind,  as  well  as  that 
of  the  heart,  imparts  a  feeling  of  internal  activhy,  of 
which  all  those  beings  who  abandon  themselves  to 
the  impressions  that  come  from  without  are  rarely 
capable. 

Tiie  first  class  of  the  writings  of  L -ibnitz  contains 
those  which  we  call  theological,  because  they  are  di- 
rected to  truths  which  form  part  of  the  support  of  re- 
ligion ;  and  the  theory  of  the  human  mina  is  included 
in  the  second  class.  In  the  first  class  he  treats  of  the 
orig'in  of  good  and  evil — of  the  divine  prescience  ; — in 
a  word,  of  tiiose  primitive  questions  which  lie  beyond 
the  bounds  of  human  intelligence,  I  do  not  pretend 
to  censure,  by  this  expression,  those  great  men  who, 
from  the  times  of  Pythagoras  and  Plat<.  down  to  oar 
own,  have  been  attracted  towards  these  lofty  phi,ost>ph- 
ica>  speculations.  Genius  does  not  set  bouiids  to  itself, 
^nt's  it  i;as  siruggleci  for  a  iong  time  agaii.st  ti.at  n^rd 
4iecessity.    Who  can  possess  the  faculty  of  thinkmg. 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORA^ST. 


and  not  endeavour  to  learn  the  origm  and  the  end  of 
the  thmgs  of  this  world  ? 

Every  thing  that  lives  upon  earth,  excepting  man, 
seems  to  be  ignorant  of  itself.  He  alone  knows  that 
he  will  die,  and  this  awful  truth  awakens  his  interest 
for  ail  the  grand  thoughts  which  are  attached  to  it. 
From  the  time  that  we  are  capable  of  reflection  we  re- 
solve, or  rather  we  think  we  resolve,  after  our  own 
manner,  the  philos-jphical  questi  -ns  which  may  ex- 
plain the  destiny  of  man  ;  but  it  has  been  granted  to 
no  one  to  comprehend  that  destiny  altogether.  Every 
man  views  it  from  a  different  point;  every  man  has  his' 
own  philosophy,  his  poetry,  his  love.  This  philoso- 
phy is  in  accord  with  the  peculiar  bias  of  his  character 
and  his  mind.  When  we  raise  ourselves  towards  in- 
finity, a  thousand  explanations  may  be  equally  true, 
altiiough  different ;  for  questions  without  bounds  have 
thousands  of  aspects,  one  of  which  may  be  sufficient 
to  occupy  the  whole  duration  of  existence. 

If  the  mystery  of  the  universe  is  above  t4ie  under* 
standing  of  matj,  still  the  study  of  this  mystery  gives 
more  expansion  to  the  mind.  It  is  in  metaphysics  as 
it  is  in  alchemy:  in  searching  for  the  philosopher's 
ston«5  in  endeavouring  to  discover  an  impossibility,  we 
meet  upon  the  road  with  truths  which  would  have  re- 
mained unknown  to  us:  besides,  we  cannot  hinder  a 
meditative  being  from  bestowing  some  time  at  least 
upon  the  trar:scendent  philosophy ;  this  ebulition  of 
spiritual  nature  cannot  be  kept  back,  without  bringing 
that  nature  into  disgrace,  ' 

The  pre-established  harmony  of  Leibnitz,  which  he 
believed  to  be  a  great  discovery,  has  been  refuted  with 
success  ;  he  flattered  himself  tiiat  he  could  expiain  tiie 
relations  between  mind  and  matter, by  considering  them 
both  as  instruments  tuned  beforehand,  wiuch  re-echo, 
and  answes ,  and  imitate  each  other  mutuaily.  His  mo- 
nads, of  which  he  constitutes  tiie  simple  eiemenis  of 
the  universe,  are  but  an  hypothesis  as  graiuitous  as 
all  those  which  have  beeii  used  to  :-x>.'lyii;  the  orifi-ii' of 
things.    But  in  wn^it  a  si.  •     -  S  2^.:q;;:.xn;y  is 

the  human  mindl  Licessautiy  aUiucica  towards  the 


GERMAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


145 


secret  of  its  being,  it  finds  that  secret  equally  impos- 
sible to  be  discovered,  or  to  be  banished  from  its 
thong-hts. 

The  Persians  say,  that  Zoroaster  interrogated  the 
Deity,  and  asked  how  the  world  had  begun,  when  it 
would  end,  what  was  the  origin  of  good  and  evil  ?  The 
Deity  answered  to  all  these  questions-—''  Do  ivhat  is 
"  good,  and  gain  immortality.'*  The  point  which  par- 
ticularly constitutes  the  excellence  of  this  reply,  is 
this — that  it  does  not  discourage  man  from  the  most 
sublime  meditations  ;  it  only  teaches  him,  that  by  con- 
science and  sentiment  he  may  exalt  himself  to  the 
most  lofty  conceptions  of  philosophy. 

Leibnitz  was  an  idealist,  who  founded  his  system 
'solely  upon  reasoning  ;  and  from  tlience  it  arises,  that 
he  has  pushed  his  abstractions  too  far,  and  that  he  has 
not  sufficiently  supported  his  theory  upon  inward  per-- 
■suasion — the  only  true  foundation  of  that  which  is  above 
the  understanding :  in  short,  reason  upon  the  liberty 
of  man,  and  you  will  not  believe  it ;  lay  your  hand  up- 
on your  conscience,  and  you  will  not  be  able  to  doubt 
it.  Consequence  and  contradiction,  in  the  sense  that 
we  attach  to  either  of  these  terms,  do  not  exist  within 
the  sphere  of  tlie  great  questions  concerning  the  liber- 
ty of  man,  the  origin  of  good  and  evil,  the  diyine 
prescience,  &c.  In  these  questions  sentiment  is  al- 
most always  in  opposition  to  reason  ;  in  order  to  teach 
mankind,  that  what  he  calls  incredible  in  the  order  of 
earthly  things,  is  perhaps  the  supreme  truth  under 
■universal  relations. 

Dante  has  expressed  a  grand  philosophical  thought 
by  this  verse  : — 

A  g-uisa  del  ver  primo  die  I'uom  crede.* 

\Ve  must  believe  certain  truths  as  we  believe  our  own 
existence ;  it  is  the  soul  whicn  reveals  them  to  us  ; 
and  reasonings  of  every  kind  are  never  more  than  fee« 
ble  streams  derived  from  this  fountain. 


*  "  It  is  thus  that  man  believes  in  primitive  truth.*' 
VOL.  II,  N 


146 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  ^lORALS. 


The  Theodicea  of  Leibintz  treats  of  the  divine  pre- 
science, and  of  the  cause  of  good  and  evii :  it  is  one  of 
the  most  profound  and  argumentative  works  upon  the 
theory  of  the  infinite  ;  the  author,  however,  too  of- 
ten applies  to  that  which  is  without  bounds,  a  sort  of 
logic  to  which  circumscribed  objects  alone  are  amena- 
ble. Leibnitz  was  a  perfectly  religious  character; 
but,  from  this  very  circumstance,  he  believed  it  a  du- 
ty to  ground  the  truths  of  religion  upon  mathematical 
reasoning,  in  order  to  support  them  on  such  founda- 
tions as  are  admitted  within  the  empire  of  experience  : 
this  error  proceeds  from  a  respect,  oftener  felt  than 
acknowledged,  for  men  of  cold  and  arid  minds ;  we  at- 
tempt to  convince  them  in  their  own  manner ;  we  ac- 
knowledge that  arguments  in  a  logical  form  have  n\ore 
certainty  than  a  proof  from  sentiment ;  and  it  is  not 
true. 

In  the  region  of  intellectual  and  religious  truths,  of 
which  Leibnitz  has  treated,  we  must  use  consciousness 
in  the  room  of  demonstration.  Leibnitz,  wishing  to 
adhere  to  abstract  reasoning,  demands  a  sort  of  stretch 
of  attention  v/hich  few  minds  can  support.  Metaphy- 
sical  works,  that  are  founded  neither  upon  experience 
lior  upon  sentiment,  singularly  fatigue  the  thinking 
pow  er ;  and  we  may  imbibe  from  them  a  physical  and 
moral  pain,  so  great,  that  by  our  obstinate  endeavours 
to  conquer  it,  we  may  shc:,tter  the  organs  of  reason  in 
our  heaCiS.  A  poet,  Baggesen,  has  made  Vertigo  a 
divinity — we  should  recommend  ourselves  to  the  fa- 
vour of  that  gocidess,  when  we  are  about  to  study 
these  works,  v/hich  place  us  in  such  a  manner  at  the 
summit  of  ideas,  that  we  have  no  longer  any  ladder- 
steps  to  re-descend  into  life. 

The  metaphysical  and  religious  writers,  who  are  el= 
oquent  and  feeling  at  the  same  tin)e  (such  as  we  have 
seen  in  some  examples,)  are  much  better  adapted  to 
our  nature.  Far  from  requiring  the  suppression  of 
our  iacuities  of  feeling,  in  order  to  make  our  faculty 
of  abstraction  more  precise,  they  bid  us  this  k,  feel, 
and  wish,  that  all  the  strength  of  our  souis  may  aid  us 
to  penetrate  into  the  depths  of  heaven ;  but  to  cling 


GERM  \X  PHILOSOPHY. 


14^ 


L'.ose  to  abstraction  is  such  an  effort,  that  it  is  natural 
eacu  jh  for  the  generality  of  men  to  have  renounced 
the  attempt,  and  to  have  thought  it  more  easy  to  ad- 
mit nothing  beyond  what  is  visible. 

The  experirAeniai  paiiosophy  is  complete  in  itself; 
it  is  a  whole,  sufficiently  vulgar,  but  compact,  circum- 
scribed, argumentative  ;  and  while  we  adhere  to  the 
sort  of  reasoning  which  is  received  in  the  commerce 
of  the  v/orld,  we  ought  to  be  contented  with  it ;  the 
immortal  and  the  infinite  are  only  fd:  through  the  me- 
dium of  the  soul ;  the  soul  alone  can  diffuse  an  inter- 
est over  the  higher  sort  of  metaphysics.  We  are  ve- 
ry wrong  to  persuade  c-  :  t-.:  more  abstract 
a  theory  is,  the  more  i-  -  -  a  us  against 
all  iliusion  ;  for  it  is  exactiy  by  ihese  means  that  it  may 
lead  us  into  error.  We  take  the  connexion  of  ideas 
for  their  proof ;  we  arrange  our  rank  and  nie  of  chi- 
meras with  precision  ;  and  we  fancy  that  they  are  an  ar- 
my. There  is  nothing  but  the  genius  of  sentiment  that 
arises  above  experimental,  as  well  as  above  specula- 
tive philosophy;  there  is  no  other  genius  but  that, 
v.'hich  can  carry  conviction  beyond  the  limits  of  human 
reason. 

It  appears  then  to  me,  that,  notv.'ithstanding  my  en- 
tire admiration  for  the  strength  of  mmd  and  depth  of 
genius  in  Leibnitz,  we  should  wish,  in  his  writings 
upon  questions  of  metaphysical  theology,  more  imag-in- 
ation  and  sensibility;  that  we  i 
thought  by  the  indulgence  of  our  ic  -1::.^;.  L  .z 
most  made  a  scruple  of  recurring  to  it,  fearing  taat  he 
should  have  the  appearance  of  usmg  seductive  arts 
in  favour  of  the  truth  :  he  was  wrong ;  for  sentiment 
IS  truth  itself  in  questions  of  this  nature. 

Tne  objections  which  I  have  allowed  myself  to 
make  to  those  works  of  Leibnitz,  which  aim  at  the 
solution  of  truths  inso.uble  by  reasoning,  do  not  at  all 
apply  to  his  writings  on  the  formation  ot  ideas  in  the 
human  mLnd ;  those  writings  are  of  a  most  luminous 
rlearness ;  they  refer  to  a  mystery  which  man,  to  a 
certain  degree,  can  penetrate  ;  for  he  knows  more 
of  himself  than  of  t^e  universe.     The  opinions  of 


J48 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  ISIORALS*. 


Leibnitz  in  this  respect  tend,  above  all,  to  our  moral' 
perfection,  if  it  be  true,  as  the  G.erman  philosophers 
have  attempted  to  prove,  that  free-wil!  rests  upon  the 
doctrine  which  delivers  the  soul  from  external  objects, 
and  that  virtue  cannot  exist  without  the  perfect  inde- 
pendence of  the  will. 

Leibnitz  has  opposed,  with  admirable  force  of  log- 
ical reasoning,  the  system  of  Locke,  who  attributes 
all  our  ideas  to  our  sensations.  The  advocates  of 
this  system  had  vaunted  of  that  well-known  axiom) 
that  there  is  nothing  in  the  intellect  which  has  not  first 
been  in  the  senses  ;  and  Leibnitz  added  to  it  this  sub- 
lime restriction—-"  Except  the  intellect  itself*."  From 
this  prhiciple  all  the  new  philosophy  is  derived,  which 
so  much  influences  the  men  of  genius  in  Germany. 
This  philosophy  also  is  experimental ;  for  it  endeav- 
ours to  learn  what  is  passing  within  ourselves.  It  on- 
ly substitutes  the  observation  of  internal  feeling  for 
that  of  our  external  sensations. 

The  doctrine  of  Locke  gained  many  portisans  in 
Germany  among  those  who  endeavoured,  like  Bonnet 
at  Geneva,  and  many  other  philosophers  in  England, 
to  reconcile  this  doctrine  vt^ith  the  religious  sentiments 
"which  Locke  himself  always  professed.  The  genius  of 
Leibnitz  foresaw  ail  the  consequences  of  this  sort  of 
metaphysics  ;  and  that  which  has  built  his  glory  on  an 
everlasting  foundation,  is  his  ,  having  maintained  in 
Germany  the  philosophy  of  moral  liberty  against  that 
of  sensual  fatalism.  While  the  rest  of  Europe  adopt- 
ed those  principles  which  make  the  soul  be  consider- 
ed as  passive,  Leibnitz,  with  unshaken  constancy,  v/as 
the  defender  of  the  ideal  philosophy,  such  as  his  gen- 
ius had  conceived  it.  It  had  no  connexion  with  the 
system  of  Berkeley ;  nor  with  the  reveries  of  ti^e  Greek 
sceptics  upon  the  non-existence  of  matter;  but  it 
maintained  the  moral  being  in  his  independence  and  in 
liis  rights. 

*  Nihil  est  in  intcUecta  quod  non  fiierit  iii  sensu^  nisi  iiitel-. 
leptiis  ipse. 


KANT. 


149 


CHAPTER  VI, 
Kant, 


K^ANT  lived  even  to  a  very  advanced  age,  and  never 
quitted  Konigsberg  ; — there,  in  the  midst  of  northern 
ice,  he  passed  his  whole  life  in  meditation  upon  the  - 
laws  of  human  intelligence.  An  indefatigable  ardour 
for  study  enabled  him  to  acquire  stores  of  knowledge 
without  number.  Sciences,  languages,  literature,  ail 
were  familiar  to  him  ;  and  without  seeking  for  glory, 
v.'hich  he  did  not  enjoy  till  a  very  late  period  (not  ha- 
ving heard  the  noise  of  his  renov/n  before  his  old  age), 
he  contented  himself  with  the  silent  pleasure  of  re- 
flection. In  solitude  he  contemplated  his  mind  with 
close  attention ;  the  examination  of  his  thoughts  lent 
him  new  strength  to  support  his  virtue  ;  and  although 
he  never  intermeddled  with  the  ardent  passions  of  men, 
he  knew  how  to  forge  arms  for  those  who  should  be 
summoned  to  combat  those  passions. 

Except  among  the  Greeks,  we  have  hardly  any  ex- 
ample of  a  life  so  strictly  philosophical  ;  and  that  life 
itself  answers  for  the  sincerity  of  the  writer.  To 
such  an  unstained  sincerity,  we  must  further  add  an 
acute  and  exact  understanding,  v/hich  served  for  a  cor- 
rector to  his  genius,  when  he  suffered  it  to  carry  him 
too  far.  This  is  enough,  it  seems  to  me,  to  make  us 
judge  at  least  impartially  of  the  persevering  labours 
of  such  a  man. 

Kant  first  published  several  works  on  the  natural 
sciences  ;  and  he  showed,  in  this  branch  of  stu(iy,  so 
great  a  sagacity,  that  it  was  he  who  firsi  foresaw  the 
existence  of  the  planet  Uranus.  Herschel  himself, 
after  having  discovered  it,  acknowledged  that  it  was 
Kant  who  announced  the  future  event.   His  treatise 


150 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORxiLb' 


upon  the  nature  of  the  human  understanding,  entitled 
the  "  Examination  of  pure  Reason,"  appeared  near 
thirty  years  ago,  and  this  work  was  for  some  time  un- 
known ;  but  when  at  length  the  treasures  of  thought, 
which  it  contains,  were  discovered,  it  produced  such 
a  sensation  in  Germany,  that  almost  all  which  has 
been  accomplished  since,  in  literature  as  well  as  in 
philosophy,  has  flowed  from  the  impulse  given  by 
this  performance. 

To  this  treatise  upon  the  human  understanding  suc- 
ceeded the  "  Examination  of  practical  Reason,'^  which 
related  to  morals  ;  and  the  "  Examination  of  jndg- 
«  raent,"  which  had  the  nature  of  the  beautiful  for  its 
object.  The  same  theory  serves  for  a  foundation  to 
these  three  treatises,  which  embrace  the  laws  of  in- 
tellect, the  principles  of  virtue,  and  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  beauties  of  nature  and  of  the  arts. 

I  shall  endeavour  to  give  a  sketch  of  the  principal 
ideas  which  this  doctrine  contains  ;-— .whatever  care  I 
may  take  to  explain  it  clearly,  I  do  not  dissemble  the 
necessity  there  is  of  incessant  attention  to  comprehend 
it.  A  prince,  who  was  learning  mathematics,  grew 
impatient  of  the  labour  which  that  study  demanded. 
"  It  is  indispensable,'*  said  his  instructor,  "  for  your 
»•  highness  to  take  the  pains  of  studying,  in  order  to 

learn  the  science ;  for  there  is  no  royal  road  in  mathe- 
"  piatics  "  The  French  public,  which  has  so  many 
3'easons  to  fancy  itself  a  prince,  will  allow  me  to  suggest 
that  there  is  no  royal  road  in  metaphysics  ;  and  that, 
to  attain  a  conception  of  any  theory  whatever,  we  must 
pass  through  the  intermediate  ways  which  conducted 
the  author  himself  to  the  results  he  exhibits. 

The  philosophy  of  materialism  gave  up  the  human 
■understanding  to  the  empire  of  external  objects,  and 
morals  to  personal  interest ;  and  reduced  the  beautiful 
to  ti;e  agreeable.  Kant  wished  to  re-establish  primitive 
truths  and  spontaiiCous  activity  in  the  soul,  conscience 
in  morals,  and  the  ideal  in  the  arts.  Let  us  now  ex- 
amine m  what  manner  he  has  fuifiiied  these  different 
luidertakings. 


KAXP. 


151 


At  the  time  The  Examination  of  pure  Reason'^ 
made  its  appearance,  there  existed  only  two  systems 
concerning  the  human  understanding  among  thinking 
men  :  the  one,  that  of  Locke,  attributed  all  our  ideas 
to  our  sensations  ;  the  other,  that  of  Descartes  and 
Leibnitz,  endeavoured  to  demonstrate  the  spirituaiitv 
and  the  activity  of  the  soul,  free-will,  in  short,  the 
v/hole  doctrine  of  Idealism  ;  but  these  two  philoso- 
phers rested  their  opinions  upon  proofs  purely  specu- 
lative. I  have  exposed,  in  the  preceding  chapter,  the 
inconveniences  which  result  from  these  efforts  of  ab- 
straction, that  arrest,  if  we  may  use  the  expressionj 
the  very  blood  in  our  veins,  until  our  intellectual  facul- 
ties alone  reign  within  us.  The  algebraic  method, 
applied  to  objects  that  we  cannot  embrace  by  mere 
reasoning,  leaves  no  durable  trace  in  the  mind.  While 
we  are  in  the  act  of  perusing  these  writings  upon  high 
I  philosophical  conceptions,  we  believe  that  we  compre* 
;  fiend  them  ;  we  think  that  we  believe  them  ;  but  the 
:  arguments  which  have  appeared  most  convincing,  very 
soon  escape  from  the  memory. 

If  man,  wearied  with  these  efforts,  confines  lYLxn- 
self  to  the  knowledge  which  he  gains  by  his  senses,  all 
I  will  be  melancholy  indeed  for  his  soul.  Will  he  have 
any  idea  of  immortality,  when  the  forerunners  of  de- 
struction are  engraven  so  deeply  on  the  countenance  of 
mortals,  and  living  nature  falls  incessantly  into  dust  ? 
When  all  the  senses  talk  of  death,  what  feeble  hope 
can  we  entertain  of  a  resurrection  ?  If  man  only  con- 
sulted his  sensations,  v/hat  idea  would  he  form  of  the 
supreme  goodness  ?  So  many  afflictions  dispute  the 
mastery  over  our  life  ;  so  many  hideous  objects  dis- 
figure nature,  that  the  unfortunate  creaied  being 
curses  his  existence  a  thousand  times  before  the  last 
convulsion  snatches  it  away.  Let  man,  on  the  con- 
trary, reject  the  testimony  of  his  senses,  how  will  he 
guide  himself  on  the  earth  ?  and  yet,  if  he  trusts  to 
them  alone,  v/hat  enthusiasm,  what  morals,  what  re- 
ligion will  be  able  to  resist  the  repeated  assaults  to 
I  \vhich  pain  and  pleasure  alternately  expose  him  ? 


152 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  IMORALS. 


Reflection  wandered  over  this  vast  region  of  uricer- 
tainty,  when  Kant  endeavoured  to  trace  the  limits  of 
the  two  empires,  that  of  the  senses  and  that  of  the 
soul  ;  of  external  and  of  intellectual  nature.  The 
strength  of  thinking,  and  the  wisdom  with  which  he 
marked  these  limits,  were  perhaps  never  exhibited  be- 
fore :  he  did  not  lose  himself  among  the  new  system.s 
concerning  the  creation  of  the  universe  ;  he  recognis- 
ed the  bounds  which  the  eternal  mysteries  set  to  the 
human  understanding,  and  (what  will  be  new  perhaps 
to  those  who  have  only  heard  Kant  spoken  of)  there 
is  no  philosopher  more  adverse,  in  numerous  respects, 
to  m.etaphysics  ;  he  made  himself  so  deeply  learned 
in  this  science,  only  to  employ  against  it  the  means  it 
afforded  him  to  demonstrate  its  own  insufficiency.  We 
might  say  of  him,  that,  like  a  new  Curtius,  he  threw 
himself  into  the  gulf  of  abstraction,  in  order  to  fill 
it  up. 

Locke  had  victoriously  combated  the  doctrine  of  in- 
mte  ideas  in  man  ;  because  he  has  always  represented 
ideas  as  making  a  part  of  our  experimental  know- 
ledge. The  examination  of  pure  reason,  that  is  to 
say  of  the  primitive  faculties  of  which  the  intellect  is 
composed,  did  not  fix  his  attention.  Leibnitz,  as  we 
have  said  above,  pronounced  this  sublime  axiom : — 
"  There  is  nothing  in  the  intellect  which  does  not  come 
"  by  the  senses,  except  the  intellect  itself."  Kant  has 
acknowledged,  as  well  as  Locke,  that  there  are  no 
innate  ideas ;  but  he  has  endeavoured  to  enter  into  the 
sense  of  the  above  axiom,  by  examining  what  are  the 
laws  and  the  sentiments  which  constitute  the  essence 
of  the  human  soul,  independently  of  all  experience. 
"  The  Examination  of  pure  Reason"  strives  to  show 
in  what  these  laws  consist,  and  what  are  the  objects 
upon  which  they  can  be  exercised. 

Scepticism,  to  which  materialism  almost  always 
leads,  was  carried  so  far,  that  Hume  finished  by 
overturning  the  foundation  of  all  reasoning,  in  his 
search  after  arguments  against  the  axiom,  "  that  there 
"  is  no  effect  without  a  cause."  And  such  is  the  un- 
steadiness of  human  nature  wnea  Ti^e  do  not  place  the 


153 


principle  of  conviction  in  the  centre  of  the  soul,  that 
•  incredulity,  which  begins  by  attacking  the  existence  of 
.  the  morai  world,  at  last  gets  rid  of  the  material  world 

also,  which  it  first  used  as  an  instrument  to  destroy 

the  other 

Kant  v.'ished  to  know  whether  absolute  certainty  was 
attainable  by  the  human  understanding  ,  and  he  only 
found  it  in  our  necessary  notions—that  is  to  say,  in  all 
the  raws  of  our  understanding,  which  are  of  such  a 
nature  that  we  cannot  conceive  any  thing  otherwise 
than  as  those  laws  represent  it. 

In  the  first  class  of  the  imperative  forms  of  our  un- 
derstanding are  space  and  time.  Kant  demonstrates 
that  all  our  perceptions  are  submitted  to  these  two 
forms;  he  concludes,  from  hence,  that  they  exist  in 
us,  and  not  in  objects  ;  and  that,  in  this  respect,  it  is 
our  understanding  which  gives  laws  to  external  naturCj 
instead  of  receiving  them  from  it.  Geometry,  which 
measures  space,  and  arithmiCtic,  which  divides  tim-e,are 
sciences  of  perfect  demonstration,  because  they  rest 
upon  the  necessary  notions  of  our  understanding. 

Truths  acquired  by  experience  never  carry  absolute 
certainty  with  them  :  when  we  say,  "  the  sun  rises 
"  every  day,'* — "  all  men  are  mortal,"  S--.C.  the  imagina- 
tion could  figure  an  exception  to  these  truths,  vrhich 
experience  alone  makes  us  consider  indubitable  ;  but 
imagination  herself  cannot  suppose  any  thing  out  of 
the  sphere  of  space  and  time ;  and  it  is  impossible  to 
regard  as  the  result  of  custom  (that  is  to  say,  of  the 
constant  repetition  of  the  sam^e  phenomena)  those  forms 
of  our  thought  which  we  impose  upon  things  :  sensa- 
tions may  be  doubtful ;  but  the  prism  through  which 
we  receive  them  is  immoveable. 

To  this  primitive  intuition  of  space  and  time,  we 
must  add,  or  rather  give,  as  a  foundation,  the  princi= 
pies  of  reasoning,  v.ithout  which  we  cannot  compre- 
hend any  thing,  and  v^^hich  are  the  jaws  of  our  under= 
standing  ;  the  connexion  of  causes  and  effects — unity^ 
plurality,  totality,  possibility,  reality,  necessity,  hc.^ 

*  Kant  gives  the  name  of  Categorii  to  the  diiferent  necessfiJ^'; 
Options  of  the  iinderstandlng%  of  vrhich  he  gives  a  iist^ 

I 

I 


154 


PHILOSOPHY  AKD  MORALS'. 


Kant  considers  them  all  as  equally  necessary  notions  ; 
and  he  only  raises  to  the  rank  of  real  sciences  such  as  ] 
are  immediately  founded  upon  these  notions,  because  j 
it  is  in  them  alone  that  certainty  can  exist.    The  forms 
of  reasoning  have  no  result,  excepting  when  they  are 
applied  to  our  judgment  of  external  objects,  and  ia 
this  application  they  are  liable  to  error  ;  but  they  are 
not  the  less  necessary  in  themselves  ; — that  is  to  say, 
we  cannot  depart  from  them  in  any  of  our  thoughts  ;  E 
it  is  impossible  for  us  to  figure  any  thing  out  of  the  | 
sphere  of  the  relations  of  causes  and  effects,  of  pos-  \ 
sibility,  quantity,  Sec.  ;  and  these  notions  are  as  inher-  | 
ent  in  our  conception  as  space  and  time.    We  perceive 
Bothing  excepting  through  the  medium  of  the  immove- 
able laws  of  our  manner  of  reasoning;  therefore  these 
laws  also  are  placed  within  ourselves,  and  not  without 
us. 

In  the  German  philosophy,  those  ideas  are  called  ; 
subjective^  which  grow  out  of  the  nature  of  our  un- 
derstanding and  its  faculties  ;  and  ail  those  ideas  06- 
jective,  which  are  excited  by  sensations.  Whatever 
may  be  the  denomination  which  we  adopt  in  this  re- 
spect, it  appears  to  me,  that  the  examination  of  our 
intellect  agrees  v/ith  the  prevailing  thought  of  Kant;  j 
namely,  the  distinction  he  establishes  between  the 
forms  of  our  understanding  and  the  objects  which  we 
know  according  to  those  forms  ;  and  v/helher  he  ad- 
heres to  abstract  conceptions,  or  whether  he  appeals, 
in  religion  and  morals,  to  sentiments  which  he  also 
considers  as  independent  of  experience,  nothing  is 
more  luminous  than  the  line  of  demarcation  which  he 
traces  between  what  comes  to  us  by  sensation,  and 
what  belongs  to  the  spontaneous  action  of  our  souls. 

Some  expressions  in  the  doctrine  of  Kant  having 
been  ill  interpreted,  it  has  been  pretended  that  he  be* 
lieved  in  that  doctrine  of  innate  ideas,  which  describes 
them  as  engraved  upon  the  soul  before  we  have  dis- 
covered them.  Other  German  philosophers,  more  al- 
lied to  the  system  of  Plato,  have,  in  effect,  thought 
that  the  type  of  the  world  v/as  in  the  human  understand- 
ings and  that  man  could  not  conceive  the  universe  if 


155 


he  had  not  in  himself  the  innate  imsge  of  it ;  but  this 
dociriue  is  not  touched  upon  by  Kant :  he  reduces  the 
intellectual  sciences  to  three — logic,  mctaphy^^ics,  and 
mathematics.  Logic  teaches  nothing  by  itself ;  but  as 
it  rests  upon  the  laws  of  our  understanding,  it  is  in- 
contestable in  its  principles,  abstractedly  considered  : 
this  science  cannot  lead  to  truth,  excepthig  in  its  ap» 
plication  to  ideas  and  things  ;  its  principles  are  inr.a.te, 
its  application  is  experimental'.  In  metaphysics,  Kant 
denies  its  existence  :  because  he  pretends  that  reason- 
ing cannot  firid  a  place  beyond  the  sphere  of  expe- 
rience. Jvlathematics  alone  appear  to  him  to  depend 
immediately  upon  the  notion  of  space  and  of  time— 
1  that  is  to  say.  upon  the  laws  of  our  understanding  an- 
terior, to  experience.  He  endeavours  to  prove,  that 
mathematics  are  not  a  simple  analysis,  but  a  s}Tithetic, 
positive,  creative  science,  and  certain  of  itself,  v/ith- 
out  the  necessity  of  our  recurring  to  experience  to 
be  assured  of  its  truth.  We  may  study  in  the  %voik  of 
Kaai  the  arguments  upon  wiiich  he  supports  this  v>ay 
oi  thinking ;  but  at  ieast  it  is  true,  that  there  is  no 
ir.an  more  adverse  to  what  is  called  the  phi  of 
I  the  dreamers  ;  and  txhat  he  m.Uht  rather  ha^  ,  an 
'  inclination  for  a  dry  and  didactic  mode  of  thinking, 
although  the  object  of  his  doctrine  be  to  raise  the  hu- 
;  unais  species  from  its  degradation,  under  the  philoso- 
1  phy  of  materialism. 

Far  from  rejecting  experience,  Kant  considers  the 
I  business  of  life  as  nothing  but  the  action  of  our  iu- 
!  nate  faculties  upon  the  several  sorts  of  knowledge 
I  which  come  to  us  from  without.  He  believed  that  ex- 
•  perience  would  be  nothing  but  a  chaos  without  the 
'  laws  of  the  understanding  ;  but  that  the  laws  of  the 
;  understanding  have  no  other  object  than  the  elements 
j  of  thought  afforded  it  by  experience.  It  follo-^ 
I  meraphysics  themselves  can  teach  us  nothing  1 
i  these  limits  ;  and  that  it  is  to  sentiment  that  we  ougac 
!  to  attribute  the  foreknowledge  and  the  conviction  of 
every  thing  that  transcends  the  bounds  of  the  visible 
world. 


156 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


When  it  is  attempted  to  use  reasonino-  alone  for  the 
establishmeiit  of  reiigious  truths,  it  becomes  a  most 
pliabie  instrument,  which  can  equally  attack  and  defend 
them  ;  because  we  cannot,  on  this  occasion,  find  any 
point  of  support  in  experience.  Kant  places  upon 
two  parallel  lines  the  arguments  for  and  against  the 
libeityof  man,  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  tl)e  tem- 
porary or  eternal  duration  of  the  world  ;  and  it  is  to 
sentiment  that  he  appeals  to  weigh  down  the  balance, 
for  the  metaphysical  proofs  appear  to  him  of  equal 
strength  on  either  side*.  Perhaps  he  was  wrong  to 
push  the  scepticism  of  reasoning  to  such  an  extent ; 
but  it  was  to  annihilate  this  scepticism  with  more  cer- 
tainly, by  keeping  certain  questions  clear  from  the 
abstract  discussions  which  gave  it  birth. 

It  would  be  unjust  to  suspect  the  sincere  piety  of 
Kant,  because  he  has  maintained  the  equality  of  the 
reasonings  for  and  against  the  great  questions  in  the 
transcendental  metaphysics.  It  appears  to  me,  on  the 
contrary,  that  there  is  candour  in  this  avowal.  Such 
few  minds  are  able  to  comprehend  tliese  reasonings, 
and  those  who  are  able  are  so  disposed  to  combat  each 
other,  that  it  is  rendering  a  great  service  to  religious 
faith  to  banish  metaphysics  from  all  questions  that  re- 
late to  the  existence  of  God,  to  free-will,  to  the  ori- 
gin of  good  and  evil. 

Some  respectable  persons  have  said,  that  we  ought 
not  to  neglect  any  weapon,  and  that  metaphysical  ar- 
guments also  ought  to  be  employed,  to  persuade  those 
over  whom  they  have  power ;  but  these  arguments 
lead  to  discussion,  and  discussion  to  doubt  upon  every 
subject. 

The  best  aeras  for  the  race  of  man  have  ever  been 
those,  when  truths  of  a  certain  class  were  uncontest- 
ed in  writing  or  discourse.  The  passions  might  then 
seduce  into  cuipabJe  acts  j  but  no  one  called  in  ques- 
tion the  truth  of  that  religion  which  he  disobeyed. 
Sophisms  of  every  kind,  the  abuses  of  a  certain  phi- 

*  Tliese  opposite  arguments  on  great  metaphysical  questions 
ai'e  called  "  Antinomies'*  in  Kant's  writings. 


KANT. 


hDsopliy,  have  destroyecl,  in  different  countries  and  dif- 
ferent ages,  that  noble  firmness  of  belief,  which  was 
the  source  of  the  devotion  of  heroes.  Then  is  it  not  a 
fine  idea,  for  a  philosopher  to  shut,  even  to  the  science 
^yhich  he  professes^  tlie  door  of  the  sa-nctuary,  and  to 
employ  all  the  power  of  abstraction  to  prove,  that  there 
are  regions  from  which  it  ought  to  be  banished  ? 

Despots  and  fanatics  have  endeavoured  to  prevent 
human  reason  from  examining  certain  subjects,  and 
reason  has  ever  burst  these  unjust  fetters.  But  the 
limits  which  she  imposes  on  herself,  far  from  enslav- 
ing her,  give  her  a  new  strength—such  strength  as 
?Jways  results  from  the  authority  of  laws,  which 
are  freely  agreed  to  by  those  w-ho  are  subjected  to 
them. 

A  deaf  and  dumb  person,  before  he  had  been  un- 
der the  discipline  of  the  Abbe  Sicard,  might  feel  a 
full  conviction  of  the  existence  of  the  Divinity.  Ma- 
ny men  are  as  far  removed  from  those  who  think  deep- 
ly, as  the  deaf  and  dumb  are  from  other  men,  and  still 
they  are  not  less  capable  of  experiencing  (if  the  ex- 
pression may  be  allowed)  within  themselves  primi- 
tive truths,  because  such  truths  spring  from  senti" 
ment. 

Physicians,  in  the  physical  study  of  man,  recognise 
the  principle  which  animates  him,  and  yet  no  one  knovrs 
what  life  is  ;  and  if  one  set  about  reasoning,  it  would  be 
easy  to  prove  to  men  (as  several  Greek  philosophers 
have  done),  that  they  do  not  live  at  all.  It  is  the 
same  with  God,  with  conscience,  and  with  free-will. 
You  must  believe  because  you  feel:  ail  argument  will 
be  inferior  to  this  fact. 

The  labours  of  anatomy  cannot  be  practised  on  a 
living  body  without  destroying  it ;  analysis,  Vv'hen  at- 
tempted to  be  applied  to  indivisible  truths,  destroys 
them,  because  its  first  efforts  are  directed  against  their 
unity.  We  must  divide  our  souls  in  two,  in  order 
that  one  half  of  us  may  contemplate  the  other.  In 
whatever  w^ay  this  division  takes  piace,  it  deprives 
our  being  of  that  sublime  identity,  v.ithout  which  we 
have  not  sufficient  strength  to  believe  that  of  which 
consciousness  alone  offers  us  assurance. 

VOL.  II.  O 


158 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


Let  a  fvreat  number  of  men  be  assembled  at  a  thea» 
tre  or  public  place,  and  let  some  theorem  of  reason- 
ing, however  general,  be  proposed  to  them  ;'--as  ma- 
ny different  opinions  will  immediately  be  formed  as 
there  are  individuals  assembled.  But,  if  any  actions, 
displaying  greatness  of  soul,  are  related,  or  the  ac- 
cents of  generosity  heard,  the  general  burst  will  at 
once  proclaiin,  that  you  have  touched  that  instinct  of 
the  soui  which  is  as  lively  and  as  powerful  in  our  be- 
ings, as  the  instinct  which  preserves  our  existence. 

In  referring  to  sentiment,  which  does  not  admit  of 
doubts,  the  knowledge  of  transcendent  truths,  in  en- 
deavouring to  prove  tliat  reasoning  avails  only  when 
exerted  within  the  sphere  of  sensations,  Kant  is  very 
far  from  considering  this  faculty  of  sentiment  as  an 
illusion  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  assigns  to  it  the  first 
rank  in  human  nature;  he  makes  conscience  the  in- 
nate principle  of  our  moral  existence  ;  and  the  feeling 
of  right  and  wrong  is,  according  to  his  ideas,  the  prim- 
itive law  of  the  heart,  as  space  and  time  are  of  the  un- 
derstanding. 

Has  not  man  been  led  by  reasoning  to  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  free-will  ?  and  yet  he  is  so  convinced  of  it, 
that  he  surprises  himself  in  the  act  of  feeling  esteem 
or  dislike  even  for  the  animals  that  surround  him ;  so 
forcibly  does  he  believe  in  the  spontaneous  choice  of 
good  and  evil  in  ail  beings. 

The  assurance  of  our  freedom  is  only  the  feeling 
■\vt  have  of  it ;  and  on  this  liberty,  as  the  corner-stone, 
is  raised  the  doctrine  of  duty  ;  for  if  man  is  free,  he 
ought  to  create  to  himself  motives  powerful  enough 
to  combat  against  the  operation  of  exterior  objects, 
and  to  set  his  wi;i  free  from  the  narrow  trammels  of 
scsfishness.  Duly  is  at  once  the  proof  and  the  security 
of  the  metaphysical  inde;  endence  oi  man. 

In  the  following  chapters,  we  shall  examine  Kant's 
arguments  against  morality  as  founded  upon  self-in- 
terest, and  the  sublime  theory  which  he  substitutes  in 
the  place  of  this  hypocritical  sophism,  or  perverse 
doctrhic.  Different  opinions  may  be  entertained  as  to 
Kant's  first  work,      T/ie  Escajnination  of  fiure  Rea- 


KAXT. 


159 


-  S071 having  himself  acknowledged  reasoning  to  be 
insufficient  and  contradictory,  he  ought  to  have  antici- 
pated that  it  would  be  made  use  of  against  him  ;  but  it 
appears  to  me  impossible  not  to  read  with  respect  his 
"  Examinatio7i  of  fnactical  Reason^''  and  the  different 
works  that  he  has  written  on  morality. 

Not  only  are  Kant's  principles  of  morality  austere 
and  ]jure,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  inflexibility 
of  a  philosopher,  but  he  ahvays  connects  the  evidence 
of  the  heart  with  that  of  the  understanding,  and  is  sin- 
gularly happy  in  making  his  abstract  theory,  as  to  the  na- 
ture of  the  understanding,  serve  as  a  support  to  senti- 
ments at  once  the  most  simple  and  the  most  pow? 
erful. 

A  conscience  acquired  by  sensations  may  be  stifled 
by  them ;  and  the  dignii.y  of  duty  is  degraded,  in  be- 
ing made  to  depend  on  exterior  objects.  Kant,  there- 
fore, is  incessantly  labouring  to  show,  that  a  deep  sense 
of  tins  dignity  is  the  necessary  condition  of  our  mor- 
al oeing,  the  law  by  wiiich  it  exists.  The  empire  of 
sensations,  and  the  bad  actions,  to  the  commission  of 
v/hich  they  lead,  can  no  more  destroy  in  us  the  notion 
of  good  or  of  evil,  than  the  idea  of  space  and  time 
can  be  changed  by  an  erroneous  application  of  it. 
There  is  always,  in  whatever  situation  vre  may  be 
plv-.ced,  a  power  of  re-action  against  circumstances, 
^  wii'cn  springs  from  the  botton-i  of  the  soul;  and  vre 
1  cannot  but  feel,  tiiat  neither  the  laws  of  the  under- 
standing, moral  liberty,  nor  conscience,  are  the  re- 
sult of  experience. 

In  his^ treatise  on  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  enti- 
tled,^ "  The  Examinati'jii  of  the  Judgment''  Kant 
applies  to  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination  the  svsteni 
from  which  he  has  developed  such'fruitfui  deductions 
in  the  sphere  of  intelligence  and  of  sentiment;  or 
rather  ii  is  the  same  soul  which  he  examines,  and 
which  shov/s  itself  in  the  sciences,  in  morality,  and  in 
the  fine  arts.  Kant  maintains,  that  there  are  in  poet- 
ry and  in  the  arts  which  are  capable,  as  poetry  is,  of 
painting  sentiments  by  images,  two  Idnds  of  beautv : 
one  which  may  be  referred  to  time  and  to  this  life ; 
the  other,  to  eternity  and  infinity. 


160 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


And  so  impossible  is  it  to  say,  that  what  is  infinite 
and  eternal  is  inteUigibie  to  our  minds,  that  one  is 
often  tempted  to  take  even  what  is  finite  and  transient 
for  a  dream  ;  for  thought  can  see  no  limits  to  any 
thing,  neither  can  being  have  a  conception  of  non-ex- 
istence. We  cannot  search  deeply  into  the  exact  sci- 
ences themselves,  v/ithout  meeting,  even  there,  with 
what  is  infinite  and  eternal ;  and  those  things  which 
are  the  most  completely  matters  of  fact,  do,  under 
some  relations,  belong  to  this  infinity  and  eternity,  as 
much  as  sentiment  and  imagination. 

From  this  application  of  the  feeling  of  infinity,  to 
the  fine  arts,  arises  the  system  of  ideal  beauty,  that  is 
to  say,  of  beauty  considered,  not  as  the  assemblage 
and  imitation  of  whatever  is  most  v>^orthy  in  nature,  but 
as  the  realization  of  that  image  which  is  constantly- 
present  to  the  souL  Materialists  judge  of  the  beauti- 
ful according  to  the  agreeable  impression  which  it 
causes,  and  therefore  place  it  in  the  empire  of  sensa- 
tions :  immateriaiists,  who  ascribe  every  thing  to  rea- 
son, see  in  the  beautiful  what  they  call  the  perfect,  and 
find  in  it  some  analogy  to  the  useful  and  the  good, 
v/hich  they  consider  to  be  the  first  degrees  of  pevfec- 
tion.    Kant  has  rejected  both  these  explanations. 

Beauty,  considered  only  as  an  agreeable  thing,  would 
be  confined  to  the  sphere  of  sensations,  and  conse- 
quently subject  to  the  difference  of  tastes ;  it  could 
v.QvQv  claim  that  universal  acknowledgment,  which  is 
the  true  character  of  beauty  ;  beauty,  again,  consider- 
ed as  perfection,  would  require  a  sort  of  judgment, 
like  that  on  which  esteem  is  founded :  the  enthusiasm 
that  ought  to  be  inspired  by  the  beautiful,  belongs 
neither  to  sensations  nor  to  judgment:  it  is  an  innate 
disposition,  like  the  feeling  of  duty,  and  those  ideas 
which  are  essential  to  the  understanding  ;  and  we  dis- 
cover beauty  when  we  see  it,  because  it  is  the  out- 
ward image,  of  that  ideal  beauty,  the  type  of  which 
exists  in  our  mind.  Difference  of  tastes  may  be  appli- 
ed to  what  is  agreeable,  for  our  sensations  are  the 
source  of  tliat  kind  of  pleasure  ;  but  all  men  must  ad- 
inirc  what  is  beautiful,  whether  in  art  or  in  naturc) 


kaxt: 


161 


because  they  have  in  their  souls  sentiments  of  celes- 
tial origin,  which  beauty  avrakens,  and  of  v^'hich  it  ex- 
cites the  enjoyment. 

Kant  passes  from  the  theory  of  the  beautiful  to  that 
of  the  sublime  ;  and  this  second  part  of  his  '•^  Exam- 
ination  of  the  Judgmciit'^  is  even  more  remarkable 
-than  the  first  :  he  makes  the  sublime,  in  moral  liberty, 
consist  in  the  struggles  of  man  with  his  destiny,  or 
with  his  nature.  Unlimited  power  excites  our  fear, 
greatness  overwhelms  us  ;  yet  by  the  vigour  of  the 
Tviil,  we  escape  from  the  sensation  of  our  physical 
weakness.  The  povvcr  of  destiny,  and  the  immensity 
of  nature,  are  placed  in  endless  opposition  to  the  mis- 
erable dependence  of  the  creature  upon  earth  ;  but 
one  spark  of  the  sacred  fire  in  our  bosoms  triumphs 
over  the  universe  ;  since  with  that  one  spark  v/e  are 
enabled  to  resist  the  impressions  which  all  the  poweis 
in  the  world  could  m.ake  upon  us. 

The  first  eftect  of  the  sublime  is  to  overwhelm  a 
man.  and  the  second  to  exalt  him.  When  we  contemplate 
a  storm  curling  the  billows  of  the  sea,  and  seeming  to 
threaten  both  earth  and  heaven,  terror  at  first  takes 
possession  of  us,  although  we  may  be  out  of  the  reach 
©f  any  persona!  danger  ;  but  when  the  ciouds  that  have 
gathered,  burst  over  our  heads,  when  all  the  fury  of 
nature  is  displayed,  man  feels  an  inward  energy,  which 
frees  him  from  every  fear,  by  his  will,  or  by  resigna- 
tion, by  the  exercise,  or  by  the  relinquishment  cf  his 
moral  liberty  ;  and  this  consciousness  of  what  is  within 
him  animates  and  encourages  him. 

When  we  hear  of  a  generous  action,  v/hen  we  learn 
that  men  have  borne  unheard-of  misfortunes  to  remain 
faithful  to  their  opinion,  even  to  the  smallest  swerv- 
ing ;  at  first  the  description  of  the  miseries  they  have 
suffered  confuses  our  ideas  ;  but  by  degrees,  we  re- 
gain our  strength,  and  the  sympathy  that  we  feel  ex- 
cited uithin  ourselves,  by  greatness  of  soul,  makes  us 
hope  that  we  ourselves  could  triumph  over  the  misera- 
ble sensations  of  this  life  to  remani  faithful;  noble,  and 
proud  to  our  latest  day. 
VOL.  n.  02 


162 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


Besides,  no  one  can  define,  if  I  may  so  say,  that 
which  is  at  the  summit  of  our  existence  ;  "  IVe  are 
"  too  much  elevated  in  resfiect  to  ourselves^  to  comjire^ 
«  hend  om^sclvea"  says  St.  Augustin.  He  must  be 
very  poor  in  imagination  who  should  think  himself  able 
to  exhaust  the  contemplation  even  of  the  simple&t 
flower  ;  how  then  could  we  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of 
all  that  is  comprised  in  the  idea  of  the  sublime  ? 

I  do  not  certainly  flatter  myself  that  I  have  been 
able,  in  a  fev/  pages,  to  give  an  account  of  a  system 
which,  for  twenty  years,  has  occupied  all  thinking 
heads  in  Germany  ;  but  I  hope  to  have  said  enough  to 
show  the  general  spirit  of  the  philosophy  of  Kant,  and 
to  enable  me  to  explain  in  the  following  chapters,  the 
influence  which  it  has  had  upon  literature,  science, 
and  morality. 

In  order  to  reconcile  experimental  and  ideal  philoso- 
phy, Kant  has  not  made  the  one  subordinate  to  ths 
other,  but  he  has  given  to  each  of  the  two,  separately, 
a  new  degree  of  force.  Germany  was  threatened  by 
Jhat  cold  doctrine  which  regarded  all  enthusiasm  as  an 
error,  and  clased  amongst  prejudices  those  sentiments 
which  form  the  consolation  of  our  existence.  It  was 
a  great  satisfaction  for  men,  at  once  so  philosophical 
and  so  poetical,  so  capable  of  study  and  of  exaltation, 
to  see  all  the  fine  afl'ections  of  the  soul  defended  with 
the  strictness  of  the  most  abstract  reasonings^  The 
force  of  the  mind  can  never  be  long  in  a  negative  state  ^ 
that  is,  it  cannot  long  consist  principally,  in  not  believ- 
ing, in  not  understanding,  and  in  what  it  disdains. 
We  must  have  a  philosophy  of  belief,  of  enthusiasm, 
a  philosophy  which  confirms  by  reason,  what  sen= 
timent  reveals  to  us. 

The  adversaries  of  Kant  have  accused  him  of  having 
merely  repeated  the  arguments  of  the  ancient  ideal- 
ists ;  they  have  pretended  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Ger-= 
man  philosopher  v/as  only  an  old  system  in  a  new  lan- 
guage. This  reproach  has  no  foundation.  There  are 
not  only  new  ideas,  but  a  particular  character,  in  the 
doctrine  of  jLaiit'» 


KANT. 


163 


It  savours  of  the  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
turvs  although  it  was  intended  to  refute  the  doctrines 
of  that  philosophy,  because  it  is  natural  to  man  always 
to  catch  the  spirit  of  the  age  in  which  he  lives,  even 
when  his  intention  is  to  oppose  it.  The  philosophy  of 
Plato  is  more  poetical  than  that  of  Kant,  the  philoso- 
phy of  Mallebranche  more  religious  ;  but  the  great 
merit  of  the  German  philosopher  has  been  to  raise  up 
moral  dignity,  by  setting  all  that  is  fine  in  the  heart,  on 
the  basis  of  a  theory  deduced  from  the  strongest  rea- 
soning. The  opposition  which  it  has  been  endeavour- 
ed to  show  between  reason  and  sentiment,  necessarily 
leads  reason  on  to  selfishness,  and  reduces  sentimeiit  to 
folly  ;  but  Kant,  who  seemed  to  be  called  to  conclude 
all  the  grand  intellectual  alliances,  has  made  the  soul 
one  focus,  in  which  all  our  faculties  are  in  contactwith 
each  other. 

The  polemical  part  of  the  works  of  Kant,  that  in 
which  he  attacks  the  philosophy  of  the  materiaiistsj 
would  be  of  itself  a  master-piece.  That  philosophy  has 
struck  its  roots  so  deeply  into  the  mind,  so  much  irre- 
iigion  and  selfishness  has  been  the  result  of  ii,  that 
those  men  ought  to  be  regarded  as  benefactors  to  their 
country,  who  have  even  combatted  a  system  so  perni- 
cious, and  revived  the  ideas  of  Plato,  of  Descartes,  and 
of  Leibnitz  :  but  the  philosophy  of  the  new  German 
school  contains  a  crowd  of  ideas  which  are  peculiar  to 
it ;  it  is  founded  upon  the  greatest  extent  of  scientific 
knowledge,  v/hich  has  been  increasing  every  day,  and 
upon  a  singularly  abstract  and  logical  mode  of  reason- 
ing ;  for,  although  Kant  blames  tlie  use  of  such  rea- 
soning, in  the  examination  of  truths  which  are  out  of 
the  circle  of  experience,  he  shows  in  his  writings  a 
power  of  mind,  on  metaphysical  subjects,  which  pla= 
ces  him,  in  that  respect,  in  the  first  rank  of  thinkers. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  style  of  Kant,  in  his 
«  Kxaminaiion  of  pure  Reason"  deserves  almost  all 
the  reproaches  with  which  his  adversaries  have  treat- 
ed it-  He  has  made  use  of  a  phraseology  very  diffi<^ 
cult  to  understand,  and  of  the  most  tiresome  new  crea- 
tion of  words.   He  lived  aloqe  with  his  own  thoughts^. 


161 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


and  persuaded  himself  that  it  v/as  necessary  to  have 
new  words  for  new  ideas,  and  yet  there  are  words  to 
express  every  thing. 

In  those  objects  which  are  in  themselves  the  most 
clear,  Kant  is  frequently  guided  by  a  very  obscure 
system  of  metaphysics ;  and  it  is  only  in  those  re- 
gions of  thoug;ht  where  darkness  prevails  in  gene- 
ral, that  he  displays  the  torch  of  light  :  like  the  Israel- 
ites, who  had  for  their  guide  a  column  of  fire  by 
night,  and  a  pillar  of  a  cloud  by  day. 

No  one  in  France  would  give  himself  the  trouble 
of  studying  works  so  thickly  set  with  difficulties,  as 
those  of  Kant  ;  but  he  had  to  do  with  patient  and  per- 
severing readers.  This,  certainly,  was  not  a  reason 
for  his  abusing  their  patience  ;  perhaps,  however,  he 
would  not  have  been  able  to  search  so  deeply  into  the 
science  of  the  human  understanding,  if  he  had  attach- 
ed more  importance  to  the  choice  of  the  expressions 
which  he  made  use  of  in  explais  ing  it.  The  ancient 
philosophers  always  divided  their  doctrines  into  two 
distinct  parts  ;  one  which  they  reserved  for  the  ini- 
tiated, and  another  which  they  professed  in  public. 
Kant's  manner  of  writing  is  quite  different,  -when  his 
theory,  or  the  application  of  it,  is  the  subject. 

In  his  metaphysical  treatises,  he  makes  use  of  words 
as  arithmetical  figures,  and  gives  them  whatever  value 
he  pleases,  without  troubling  himself  with  that  which 
they  have  derived  from  custom.  This  appears  to  me 
a  great  error ;  for  the  attention  of  the  reader  is  ex- 
hausted in  efforts  to  understand  the  language,  before 
he  arrives  at  the  ideas,  and  what  is  known  never  serves 
as  a  step  to  what  is  unknown. 

We  must  nevertheless  give  Kant  the  justice  he  de- 
serves, even  as  a  writer,  when  he  lays  aside  his  scien- 
tific language.  In  speaking  of  the  arts,  and  still  more 
of  morality,  his  style  is  almost  always  perfectly  clear, 
energetic,  and  simple.  How  admirable  does  his  dr;c- 
trine  then  appear  !  How  well  does  he  express  the  sen- 
timent of  the  beautiful  and  the  love  of  duty!  With 
what  force  does  he  separate  them  both  from  all  calcu- 
lations of  interest  or  of  utility  I  How  he  ennobles  ac» 


KANT. 


tions  by  their  source,  and  not  by  their  success  !  In  a 
^vord,  what  grandeur  of  inoraiity  does  he  not  give  to 
man,  whether  he  examines  him  in  himseif,  or  whether 
he  considers  him  in  himself,  or  whether  he  considers 
him  in  his  rehuions  towards  others ; — to  man,  that  ex- 
ile of  heaven,  that  prisoner  upon  earthy  so  great  as  an 
exile,  so  miserable  as  a  captive  ! 

We  might  extract  from  the  writings  of  Kant  a  mul- 
titude of  brilliant  ideas  on  all  subjects  ;  perhaps,  in- 
deed, it  is  to  this  doctrine  alone,  that,  at  the  present 
day,  we  must  look  for  conceptions  at  once  ingenious 
and  new  ;  for  the  notions  of  the  materialists  no  longer 
offer,  in  any  thing,  what  is  interesting  or  original. 
Smartness  of  wit  against  what  is  serious,  noble,  and 
divine,  is  worn  out ;  and  in  future  it  will  be  impossible 
to  restore  to  the  human  race  any  of  the  qualities  of 
youth,  but  by  returning  to  religion  by  the  road  of  phi- 
losophy,  and  to  sentiment  by  the  way  of  reason. 


166  PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Of  the  most  celebrated  Philosophers  before  a7id  after 
Kant, 


^HE  spirit  of  philosophy,  from  its  nature,  cannot 
be  g-enerally  diffused  in  any  country.  In  Germany, 
however,  there  is  such  a  tendency  towards  habits  of 
reflection,  that  the  German  nation  may  be  considered, 
by  distinction,  as  the  nation  of  metaphysics.  It  posses- 
ses so  many  men  capable  of  understandin.^  the  most 
abstract  questions,  that  even  the  public  are  found  to 
take  an  interest  in  the  arguments  usually  employed  in 
discussions  of  that  nature. 

Every  man  of  talent  has  his  own  way  of  thinking  on 
philosophical  questions.  Writers  of  the  second  and 
third  rank,  in  Germany,  are  sufficiently  deep  to  be  of 
the  first  rank  in  other  countries.  Those  who  are  rivals, 
have  the  same  hatred  towards  one  another  there  as 
elsewhere  ;  but  no  one  would  dare  to  enter  the  lists, 
"without  having  evinced,  by  serious  study,  a  real  love 
for  the  science  in  which  he  was  engaged.  It  is  not 
enough  ardently  t"'  desire  success  :  it  must  be  deserv- 
ed, before  the  candidate  can  be  even  admitted  to  start 
for  it.  The  Germans,  however  indulgent  they  may  be 
to  defects  of  form  in  a  work,  are  unmerciful  witi;  re- 
spect to  its  real  value  ;  and,  when  tiiey  perceive  any 
thing  superficial,  in  the  mind,  the  feeling,  or  the  knov/- 
led:2;e  of  a  v/riter,  they  try  to  borrow  tne  very  pleasan- 
try of  the  French,  to  turn  what  is  frivolous  into  ridi- 
cule. 

It  is  my  intention  to  give,  in  this  chapter,  a  hasty 
glimpse  of  the  principal  opiiiions  of  the  philosophers 
who  have  attracted  notice  before  and  since  the  time  of 
Kant ;  the  course  which  his  successors  have  taken 
cannot  well  be  judged  of,  without  turniiig  back  to  see 
ivhai  v/as  the  state  of  opinions  at  the  time  ^vhen  tha 


CiERMAK  PHILOSOPHERS, 


167 


doctrines  of  Kantism  first  prevailed  in  Germany  ;  it 
was  opposed  at  the  same  time  to  the  system  of  L;  eke, 
as  tending'  to  materialism,  and  to  the  school  of  Leib- 
r.itz,  as  reducing  every  thintj'  to  abstraction. 

The  ideas  of  Leibnitz  were  iofty,  but  his  disciples. 
Wolf  at  their  head,  have  encumbered  them  witli  f'-^i  ms 
of  logic  and  metaphysics.  Leibnitz  hatl  said,  our  ideas 
that  come  by  the  seiises  are  confused,  and  tiiat  those 
only  which  beioni^  to  ti^e  immediate  perceptions  of  the 
mind  are  clear :  without  doubt  his  inteiiiion  by  that 
was  to  show,  ti;at  truths  wliicn  are  invisible,  are  more 
certain  and  more  in  harmony  witii  our  moral  nature, 
than  all  that  we  learn  by  the  evidence  of  tht  sersses. 
Woif  and  his  disciples  have  drawn  this  consequence 
from  it,  that  evesy  thiuL^-,  about  which  our  mincl  can 
be  employed,  must  be  reduced  into  abstract  ideas. 
Kant  iijs])ircfl  intercht  and  warmth  into  this  lifeless 
idealism  ;  ne  assigned  lo  experience,  as  well  as  to  the 
innate  facilities,  its  just  proportion  ;  and  the  art  with 
which  he  applied  his  theory  to  every  thing  that  is  in- 
tercbting  to  mankinc',  to  moraiiiy,  to  poetry,  and  to 
the  fine  arts,  extenaecl  the  influence  of  it. 

Tnree  leading  men,  Leasing,  Hemsterhuis,  and  Ja- 
cobi,  preceded  Kant  in  the  career  of  pnilosopny.  i  hey 
had  no  school,  because  they  founded  no  system ;  but 
they  began  the  attack  against  the  doctrhie  ot  the  ma- 
terialists. Of  these  three,  Lessing  is  the  one  whose 
opinions,  on  this  point,  are  the  least  tiecided  ;  howev- 
er, he  had  too  enlarged  a  m.ind  to  be  confined  within 
the  nairow  circle  which  is  so  easily  drawn,  when  we 
renounce  tne  highest  trutiis.  Lessing's  all-powerful 
polemics  disclosed  doubt  upon  the  most  important 
questions,  and  led  to  new  inquiries  of  every  kiiid. 
Lessing  himself  cannot  be  considered  either  as  a  ma- 
terialist or  as  an  idealist;  but  the  necessity  of  exami- 
nation and  study  to  the  acquisition  oi  knowledge,  was 
the  main  spring  of  his  doctnne.  if  the  Aimighty," 
said  iie,  "  were  to  hold  Truth  in  one  hand,  and  the 
"  Search  after  truth  in  the  other,  it  is  the  latter  I  should 
"  ask  of  him  in  preference." 


168 


PlllLOSOPHY  ANB  MOllALS. 


Lessing'  was  not  orthodox  in  religion.  Christianily. 
in  hiiTi,  was  not  a  necessary  thing,  like  sentiment  ;  and 
yet  he  was  capable  of  admiring  it  philosophically.  He 
imderstood  its  ri|lations  with  the  human  heart,  and  he 
ever  considers  all  the  different  ways  of  thinking,  from 
a  point  of  view,  where  he  is  able  to  see  them  all.  No- 
thing intolerant,  no  exclusion,  is  to  be  found  in  his 
■writings.  When  we  take  our  stand,  in  the  centre  of 
universal  ideas,  we  never  tail  to  have  sincerity,  depth, 
and  extent  of  mind.  Whatever  is  unjust,  vain,  and 
narrow,  is  derived  from  the  desire  of  referring  every- 
thing to  certain  partial  views,  which  we  have  taken  and 
appropriated  to  ourselves,  and  which  we  make  the  ob- 
jects of  our  seif-love. 

Lessing  expresses,  in  an  acute  and  plain  style,  opin- 
ions full  of  warmth.  Iiemsterhuis,  a  Dutch  philoso- 
pher, was  the  first  who,  in  the  middle  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  snowed  in  his  writings,  the  greater 
part  of  the  liberal  ideas,  upon  which  the  new  Ger- 
man school  is  founded.  His  works  ^re  also  very  re- 
markable, for  the  contrast  which  there  is  between  the 
character  of  his  style,  and  the  thoughts  which  it  con- 
veys. Lessing  is  an  enthusiast,  with  an  ironical  man- 
ner ;  Hemsterhuis,  an  enthusiast,  with  the  language 
of  a  mathematician.  Writers  who  devote  the  most 
abstract  metaphysics  to  the  defence  of  the  most  exalt- 
ed systems,  and  who  conceal  the  liveliness  of  imaj^ina- 
tion  under  the  austerity  of  logic,  are  a  phssnomenon 
which  is  scarcely  to  be  found,  except  amongst  the 
German  nations. 

Men,  who  are  always  upon  their  guard  against  im- 
agination, when  they  have  it  not,  are  more  ready  to. 
trust  those  writers  who  banish  talent  and  sensibility' 
from  philosophical  discussions,  as  if  it  w^ere  not,  at 
least,  as  easy  to  be  absurd,  upon  such  subjects,  in 
syllogisms  as  with  eloquence.  For  a  syllogism,  which 
always  takes  for  its  basis  that  such  a  thing  is  or  is  not, 
reduces  the  immense  crowd  of  our  impressions  to  a 
simple  alternative,  in  every  case  ;  whilst  eloquence 
embraces  ihem  all  togethei*.  Nevertheless,  although 
Hemsterhuis  has  too  frequently  expressed  phiiosophi- 


€ERMAN  FHTLOSOPHERS. 


i69 


cal  truths,  in  an  algebraic  manner,  there  is  a  senti- 
ment of  morality,  a  real  love  of  the  beautiful,  in  his 
v/ritings,  -syhich  cannot  but  be  admired  ;  he  \vas  one  of 
the  first  to  feel  the  union  which  exists  between  ideal- 
ism, or  (as  I  should  rather  say)  the  free-will  of  man, 
and  the  stoic  morality  ;  and  it  is  in  this  point  of  view, 
above  all,  that  the  new  doctrine  of  the  Germans  is  of 
great  importance. 

Even  before  the  v/ritings  of  Kant  had  appeared,  Ja- 
cob! had  attacked  the  philosophy  of  sensation,  and  still 
more  victoriously,  the  system  of  morality  founded  upon 
interest.  He  did  not  confine  himself  strictly,  in  his  phi- 
losophy, to  abstract  forms  of  reasoning.  His  analysis 
of  the  human  soul  is  fall  of  eloquence  and  of  charms. 
In  the  folio v.'ing  chaptei-s,  I  shall  examine  the  finest 
pan  of  his  works,  that  which  relates  to  morality  ;  but, 
as  a  piiiiosopher,  he  deserves  separate  honour.  Bet- 
ter instri'Ctcd  than  any  one  else  in  the  history  of  ancient 
and  modern  phiiOsopl:y,  he  devoted  ins  studies  to  the 
support  of  the  mosi  sim  [)le  truths.  The  nrst  amoni^st 
the  pniiosophers  of  lAs  day,  ne  made  reiiRious  feeling 
the  foundation  of  uur  whole  Intel iectual  nature  ;  and,  it 
may  be  said,  that  ne  has  only  learnt  the  language  of 
metaphysicians  and  learned  men,  to  do  homage,  in  itj 
to  virtue  and  divinity. 

Jcicobi  has  shown  himself  the  opposer  of  the  phi- 
losophy of  Kant,  but  he  does  not  attack  it  as  if  he  was 
himself  the  partisan  of  the  philosophy  of  sensation.* 
On  the  contrary,  his  objection  to  Kant  is,  that  he  does 
noL  rciy  sufficiently  upon  tne  support  of  religion,  con- 
sidered as  the  only  possible  philosophy  in  those  truths 
"Which  are  beyond  the  reach  of  experience. 

The  doctrine  of  Kant  has  met  v/ith  many  other  op- 
ponents in  Germany  ;  but  it  has  not  been  attacked  by 
those  who  have  not  understood  it,  or  by  tnose  who  op- 
posed the  opinions  of  Locke  and  Condillac,  as  a  com- 
plete answer  to  it.  Leibnitz  stiil  retained  too  great  an 
ascendant  over  the  minds  of  his  countrymen,  for  them 
not  to  pay  respect  to  any  opinion  which  was  analogous 

*  Thts  philosophy  has,  in  Germanv,  generally  received  the 
name  of  The  Empiric  Fhihsophy. 
VOL.  II,  P 


170 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


to  his.  A  long'  list  of  writers,  have,  for  ten  years, 
been  incessantly  engao^ed  in  writing  commentaries  on 
the  works  of  Kant.  But  at  the  present  day,  the  Ger- 
man philosophers,  although  agreeing  with  Kant  as  to 
the  spontaneous  activity  of  thought,  have  adopted 
each  a  system  of  his  own,  on  that  point.  Ir»  fact,  who 
is  there  v/ho  has  never  endeavoured  according  to  his 
abilities,  to  understand  himself?  But,  because  man 
has  given  an  innumerable  variety  of  explanations  of  his 
.nature,  does  it  therefore  foilow  that  such  a  philosophi- 
cal examination  is  useless  ?  Certainly  not.  This  vari- 
ety itself  is  a  proof  of  the  interest  which  such  an  ex- 
amination ought  to  inspire. 

In  our  oays,  people  would  be  glad  to  have  done  with 
moral  nature,  and  would  readily  pay  its  reckoning  to 
hear  no  more  of  it.  Some  say,  the  language  was  fix- 
ed on  such  a  day  of  such  a  month,  and  that,  from  that 
moment  the  introduction  of  anew  word  became  a  bar- 
barism ;  others  aftirm,  that  the  rules  of  the  drama 
were  definitively  settled  in  such  a  year  (and  it  is  a 
great  pity  that  a  genius,  which  would  now  set  about 
making  any  change  in  them,  was  not  l>orn  before  that 
year,)  in  which  every  literary  discussion,  past,  pres- 
ent, and  future,  was  determined  v.'ithout  appeal.  At 
last,  it  has  been  decided  in  metaphysics  above  all,  that 
since  the  days  ef  Condillac  it  has  been  impossible  to 
take  a  single  step  more,  vv'ithout  going  out  of  the  way* 
It  is  allowed  that  the  physical  sciences  are  making 
progress,  because  it  cannot  be  denied  ;  but  in  the  career 
of  philosophy  and  literature,  the  human  mind  is  to  be 
obliged  to  be  incessantly  running  the  ring  of  vanity 
around  the  same  circle. 

To  remain  attached  to  that  experimental  philoso- 
phy which  offers  a  species  of  evidence,  lalse  in  priiici- 
pie,  although  specious  in  form,  is  by  no  means  to  sim- 
plify the  system  of  the  universe.  By  considering  eve- 
ry thing  as  not  existing  which  is  beyond  the  reach  uf 
our  sensations,  it  is  easy  to  give  light  enough  to  a  sys- 
tem, the  limits  of  which  we  ourselves  prescribe  ;  it 
is  a  work  which  depends  upon  the  doer  of  it.  But  does 
everything  beyond  those  ii  \  its  exist  the  less,  because 
it  is  counted  as  nothing  ?  The  imperfect  truth  of  spec* 


GERMAN  PHILOSOPHERS. 


171 


illative  philosophy  is  ever  much  nearer  to  the  essence 
&f  things,  than  that  apparent  light  which  belongs  to 
the  art  of  solving  difficulties  of  a  certain  order»  When 
one  reads  in  the  philosophical  v/ritings  of  the  last  cen- 
tury these  phrases  so  frequently  repeated,  thi'i  is 
all  the  truth  that  exists^  every  thing  else  is  chimerical^ 
it  puts  one  in  mind  of  the  well-known  story  of  a 
French  actor,  who,  before  he  would  light  with  a  man 
much  fatter  tiian  himself,  proposed  to  chalk  out  on 
his  adversary's  body  a  line,  the  hits  on  the  outside  of 
which  should  go  for  nothing.  Yet  there  was  the  same 
nature  without  that  line  as  within  it,  and  equally  capa- 
ble of  receiving  a  mortal  wound.  In  the  same  manner, 
those  who  place  the  pillars  of  Hercules  on  the  bounda- 
ry of  their  horizon,  cannot  prevent  the  existence  of  a. 
nature  beyond  their  o\rn,  in  which  there  exists  a  high- 
er degree  of  life,  than  in  the  sphere  of  matter  to 
which  they  would  confine  us. 

The  tv/o  most  celebrated  philosophers  who  have 
succeeded  Kant,  are  Fichte  and  Scheliing.  They  too 
pretended  to  simplify  his  system  ;  but  it  was  by  putting 
in  its  place  a  species  of  philosophy  more  elevated  even 
than  his,  that  they  hoped  to  accomplish  it. 

Kaiit  had,  v/ith  a  nrm  hand,  separated  the  two  em- 
pires of  the  soul  an.d  of  the  senses.  This  philosophi- 
cal quality  was  fatiguing  to  minds  which  love  to  re- 
pose in  simple  ideas.  From  the  days  of  the  Greeks  to 
oar  ov/i!,  this  axiom  has  often  been  repeated,  that 
every  thing  is  one^  and  the  efforts  of  philosophers 
have  alv/ays  been  directed  to  find  in  one  single  principle, 
eitner  in  the  soul  or  in  nature,  an  explanation  of  the 
world.  I  shall  nevertheless,  venture  to  say,  that  it 
appears  to  me  to  be  one  of  the  titles  which  Kant's  phi- 
loGopliy  has  to  the  confidence  of  enlightened  men,  that 
it  affirms,  what  we  feel  to  be  the  case,  that  there  ex- 
ists both  a  soul  and  an  external  nature,  and  that  they 
act  mutually  one  upon  the  other  by  such  or  such  iav/s. 
I  know  not  v»'hy  a  greater  degree  of  philosophical  ele-. 
vation  is  to  be  found  in  the  idea  of  one  single  princi- 
ple, whether  material  or  intellectual;  there'being  one, 
or  two,  does  not  render  the  universe  more  easy  of 


172 


PHILOSOPHY  ANt)  MORALg. 


comprehension,  and  our  feeling  agrees  better  ■with 
those  systems  which  acknowledge  a  distinction  be- 
tween physics  and  morality. 

Fichte  and  Schellinir  have  divided  between  them  the 
empire  which  Kant  acknowied$^-ed  to  be  a  divided  one, 
and  each  has  chosen  that  his  own  half  should  be  the 
whole.  Both  have  gone  out  of  the  sphere  of  ourselves, 
and  have  been  desirous  of  rising';  to  a  knowledge  of 
the  system  of  the  universe.  Very  different  in  that 
from  Kant,  who  has  applied  as  much  power  of  mind 
to  show  those  things,  at  the  knov,'ledge  of  which  the 
human  mind  can  never  arrive,  as  to  explain  thos-e 
which  are  within  its  reach. 

No  philosospher,  however,  before  Fichte,  had  ex- 
tended the  system  of  idealism  with  such  scientific 
strictness;  he  makes  the  whole  universe  consist  of 
the  activity  of  mind.  Ail  conception,  all  imagination^ 
proceeds  from  that ;  it  is  on  account  of  this  system^ 
s  that  he  has  been  suspected  of  unbelief.  He  was  heard 
to  say,  that,  in  his  next  lesson,  he  should  create  God-, 
and  the  world  w^as  scandalized  v/ith  reason  at  such  an 
expression. —What  he-meant  by  it  was,  that  he  should 
show  how  the  idea  of  the  Divinity  arose^  and  was  dev- 
eloped in  the  mind  of  man.  The  principal  merit  of 
Fichte's  philosophy  is,  the  incredible  attention  that  it 
implies;  for  he  is  not  contented  with  referring  every 
thing  to  the  inward  existence  of  man,  to  the  sel?  which 
forms  the  basis  of  every  thing,  but  he  goes  on  to  dis- 
tinguish iVi  this  SELF  what  is  transient  and  what  is  per- 
iiianent.  In  fact,  v/hen  we  reflect  on  the  operations 
of  the  understanding,  v^^e  think  ourselves  eye-witnes- 
ses of  our  own  thoughts  ;  we  think  we  see  them  pass 
before  us  like  a  stream,  whilst  the  portion  of  self, 
which  is  contemplating  them,  is  immoveable.  It  of- 
ten happens  to  those  who  unite  an  impassioned  char- 
acter to  an  observiiig  mind,  to  see  themselves  suifer, 
and  to  feel  within  themselves  a  being  superior  to  its 
own  pain,  which  observes  it,  and  reproves  or  pities 
it  by  turns. 

We  are  subject  to  continual  changes  from  the  ex- 
ternal circumstances  of  our  life,  and  yet  we  always 
have  the  feeling  of  our  identity.    What  is  it^  then. 


GERMAN  PHILOSOPHERS. 


that  attests  this  identity,  if  not  that  self^  always  the 
same,  which  sees  another  self  modified  by  impres- 
sions from  without,  pass  before  its  tribunal  ? 

It  is  to  this  immoveable  soul,  the  witness  of 
the  moveable  soul,  that  Fichte  attributes  the  gift  of 
immortality,  and  the  power  of  creating,  or  (to  trans- 
late more  exactly)  of  dravoing  to  a  focus  in  itself  the 
image  of  the  universe.  This  system,  which  makes 
every  thing  rest  on  the  summit  of  our  existence,  and 
places  a  pyramid  on  its  point,  is  singularly  difficult  to 
follow.  It  strips  our  ideas  of  the  colours  which  so 
well  enable  us  to  understand  them  ;  and  the  fine  arts, 
poetry,  and  the  contemplation  of  nature,  disappear 
in  abstractions  which  are  without  any  mixture  of  im- 
agination or  sensibility. 

Fichte  considers  the  exterior  world  only  as  a  boun- 
dary of  our  existence,  on  which  thought  is  at  work« 
In  his  system,  this  boundary  is  created  by  ttie  soul 
itself,  the  activity  of  which  is  constantly  exerted  on 
the  web  it  has  formed.  What  Fichte  has  written  up- 
on the  metaphysical  self  is  a  little  like  the  waking 
of  Pygmalion's  statue,  which,  touching  alternately  it- 
self and  the  stone  on  which  it  was  placed,  says,  by 
turns,  This  is  I,  and  This  is  not  I ;  but  when,  taking 
the  hand  of  Pygmalion,  it  exclaims.  This  indeed  i^  I — 
that  excites  a  sentiment  which  is*?  much  beyond  the 
sphere  of  abstract  ideas.  Idealism,  stripped  of  sen- 
timent, has  nevertheless  the  advantage  of  exciting^ 
to  the  highest  degree,  the  activity  of  the  mind  ;  out 
nature  and  love,  by  this  system,  lose  all  their  charms  ; 
for,  if  the  objects  which  we  see,  and  the  being's  whom 
we  love,  are  noticing  but  the  works  of  our  own  ideasj 
it  is  man  himself  that  may  be  considered  as  the  greaS 
celibatary  of  the  world. 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  however,  that  the  system 
of  Fichte  has  two  great  advantages  ;  the  one  is  its  stoic 
morality,  which  admits  of  no  excuses ;  for,  every 
thing  proceeding  from  self  it  is  self  alone  which  has- 
te answer  for  the  use  it  makes  of  the  will :  the  other 
is  an  exercise  of  thought,  at  once  so  severe  and  so^ 
subtile,  that  a  man  who  had  mastered  the  system^ 

yoL.  n,  p  2 


174 


PHILOSOPHY  AKD  MORALS. 


ieven  though  he  should  not  adopt  it,  would  have  ac- 
quired a  capacity  of  attention,  and  a  sagacity  in  analy- 
■sis,  which  would  afterwards  make  any  other  kind  of 
study  a  plaything  to  him. 

In  whatever  manner  the  utility  of  metaphysics  is 
judged  of,  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  it  is  the  gymnastic 
exercise  of  the  m.ind.  It  is  usual  to  set  children  on 
different  kinds  of  wrestling  in  their  earliest  years,  al- 
though it  may  never  be  necessary  for  them  to  fight  in 
that  manner.  It  may  be  truly  said,  that  the  study  of 
the  ideal  system  of  metaphysics  is  almost  a  certain 
means  of  developing  the  moral  faculties  of  those  Vv'ho 
devote  themselves  to  it.  Thought,  like  every  thing 
precious,  resides  at  the  bottom  of  ourselves  ;  for,  on 
the  surface,  there  is  nothing  but  folly  and  insipidity. 
But  when  men  are  early  obliged  to  dive  into  their  own 
minds,  and  to  see  all  that  passes  within  them,  they 
draw  from  thence  a  pow^er,  and  plainness  o!  judgment^ 
■which  are  never  lost» 

For  abstract  ideas,  Fichte  has  a  mathematical  head, 
like  Euler  or  La  Grange.  He  has  a  singular  contempt 
for  all  expressions  which  in  any  manner  relate  to  sub» 
stance  ;  existence  even  is  too  common  a  word  for  him. 
Beings  princifile^  essence^  are  words  scarcely  airy 
enough  to  mark  the  subtile  shades  in  his  opinions. 
It  might  be  said,  that  he  was  afraid  of  coming  in  con-^ 
tact  with  realities,  and  vvas  always  shrinking  from 
them.  In  readmg  his  works,  or  convershig  with  him^ 
one  loses  the  consciousness  of  this  world,  and  feels  it 
necessary,  like  the  ghosts  described  by  Homer,  to  re= 
ijall  to  one's  seif  the  remembrances  of  life. 

Materialism  absorbs  the  soul  by  degrading  it the 
ideaiisra  of  Fichte,  by  exalting  it,  separates  it  from 
nature  ;  in  both  extremes,  senti?nent^  which  is  the. 
real  beauty  of  existence,  has  not  the  rank  it  de- 
serves. 

Schelling  has  much  more  knowledge  of  nature  and 
the  fine  arts  than  Fichte,  and  his  lively  imaginatioa 
Gould  not  be  satisfied  with  abstract  ideas  ;  but,  like 
Fichte,  his  object  is  vj  reduce  existence  to  a  single- 
principle.  He  treats  witn  prolound  contempt  ail  phi- 
losophers who  admit  two  principles  j  and  will  i^ot  ai» 


GERMAN  PHILOSOPHY, 


low  the  name  of  Philosophy  to  anv  system  but  that 
which  unites  every  thmg;,  and  explains  every  thing. 
Unquestionably  he  is  right  in  savin;]:  that  system 
would  be  the  best ;  but  where  is  it  ?  Schelling  pre- 
tends, that  nothing  is  more  absurd  than  the  expres- 
sion, so  commonly  used — The  fikilosofihu  of  PIpJ.z — . 
the  jihilosGkhy  of  Aristotle.  Should  we  say.  The  .ge- 
ometry of  Euler  the   geometry   of  La  Grange  ; 

There  is  but  one  philosophy,  according  to  Scheliing, 
or  there  must  be  none  at  all.  Certainly,  if  by  philoso- 
phy we  only  understand  the  enigma  of  the  universe, 
we  may  say,  with  truth,  that  there  is  no  philosophy. 

The  system  of  Kant  appeared  insufficient  to  Schel- 
iing, as  it  did  to  Fichte  ;  because  he  acknowled2:e3  ivro 
33atures,  two  sources  of  our  ideas — external  objects., 
and  the  faculties  of  the  soul.  But,  in  orde  r  to  arriv  e 
at  that  unity,  so  much  desired;  in  order  to  get  rid  of 
that  double  life,  physical  and  moral,  which  gives  so 
much  offence  to  the  partisans  of  simple  ideas,  Schel- 
iing refers  every  thing  to  nature,  while  Fichte  m.akes 
every  thing  spring  from  the  soul.  Fichte  sees  nothing 
in  nature  but  the  opposite  of  mind  :  in  his  eyes  it  is 
only  a  limit  or  a  chain,  from  which  we  are  constantly 
to  endeavour  to  free  ourselves.  The  system  of  Schel- 
iing gives  more  rest,  and  greater  delight,  to  the  imao;- 
ination,  nevertheless  it  necessarily  returns  into  that  of 
Spinosa;  but,  instead  of  sinking  the  mind  down  to  the 
level  of  matter,  which  is  the  practice  in  our  days, 
Scheliing  endeavours  to  raise  matter  up  to  mind  ;  and 
although  his  theory  entirely  depends  upon  pi^.vsic:;!  na- 
ture, it  is,  nevertheless,  a  very  ideal  one  at  ti:e  doiioitI} 
and  still  more  so  in  its  form. 

The  ideal  and  the  real  supply,  i:  -  '  ;  -  ;"  .;-e,  the 
place  of  intelligence  and  matter.  .  ,  /.on  and 
experience;  and  it  is  in  the  re-\r.:ici]  ot  ;:]c-e  two  povv- 
ers  in  complete  harmony,  that,  in  his  o^^huo;:.  :ne  sin- 
gle principle  of  the  organized  world  This 
-  armony,  of  which  the  two  poles  and  ,  ,  ^:ve  form 
..e  image,  and  which  is  comprised  in  the  number 
-:ree,  so  mysterious  at  all  times,  has  supplied  Schel- 
iing with  the  mcst  ingenious  applications.    Ke  believes 


176 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


it  is  to  be  found  in  the  fine  arts,  as  well  as  in  nature  ; 
and  his  works  on  physical  science  are  thought  highly 
of,  even  by  those  learned  men  who  confine  themselves 
to  the  consideration  of  facts,  and  their  results.  In- 
deed, in  examining  the  mind,  he  endeavours  to  demon- 
strate how  sensations  and  intellectual  conceptions  are 
confounded  in  the  sentiment  which  unites  whatever  is 
involuntary  and  reflective  in  both  of  them,  and  thus 
contains  ail  the  mystery  of  life. 

What  is  most  interesting  in  these  systems  is  their 
developments.  The  first  basis  of  the  pretended  expla- 
nation of  the  world  is  equally  true,  and  equally  false, 
in  the  greater  number  of  theories ;  for  all  of  them  are 
comprised  in  the  immense  thought,  which  it  is  their 
object  to  embrace:  but,  in  their  application  to  the 
things  of  this  world,  these  theories  are  very  refined, 
and  often  throw  great  light  on  many  particular  ob- 
jects. 

Schelling,  it  cannot  be  denied,  approaches  nearly  to 
the  philosophers  called  Pantheists,  that  is  to  say,  who 
attribute  to  nature  all  the  attributes  of  the  Divinity. 
But  what  distinguishes  him  is,  the  astonishing  sagacity 
with  which  he  has  managed  to  connect  his  doctrine  with 
the  arts  and  sciences ;  he  is  instructive  and  requires 
thought,  in  ail  his  observations  :  and  the  depth  of  his 
mind  is  particularly  surprising  when  he  docs  not  pre- 
tend to  apply  it  to  the  secret  of  the  universe  ;  for  no 
man  can  attain  a  superiority  which  cannot  exist  be- 
tween beings  of  the  same  kind,  at  whatever  distance 
they  may  be  placed  from  each  other. 

To  keep  up  the  ideas  of  religion  in  the  midst  of  the 
apotheosis  of  nature,  the  school  of  Schelling  suppos- 
es that  the  individual  within  us  perishes,  but  that  the 
inward  qualities  which  we  possess,  enter  again  into 
the  great  whole  of  the  eternal  creation.  Such  an  im- 
mortality is  terribly  like  death  ;  for  physical  death  it- 
self is  nothing  but  universal  nature  recalling  to  herself 
the  gifts  she  had  given  to  the  individual. 

Schelling  drav/s  from  his  system  some  very  noble 
conclusions  on  the  necessity  of  cultivating  in  the  soul 
its  immortal  quaiitiesj  those  which  are  in  relation  with 


GERMAN  PHILOSOPHERS. 


17? 


the  universe,  and  of  despising  every  thing  in  us  which' 
relates  to  our  circumstances  alone.  But  are  not  the 
affections  of  the  heart,  and  even  conscience  itself, 
allied  to  the  relations  of  this  life  ?  In  most  situations 
vre  feel  two  distinct  motions — that  which  unites  us  u  ith 
the  general  order,  and  that  which  leads  us  to  our  par- 
ticular interests ;  the  sentiment  of  duty,  and  personal- 
ity. The  nohlest  of  these  iTiotions  is  the  universal. 
But  it  is,  exactly,  because  we  have  an  instinct  which 
would  preserve  our  existence,  that  it  is  a  fine  thing  to 
sacrifice  that  instinct;  it  is  because  we  are  beings, 
whose  centre  is  in  ourselves,  that  our  attraction  to- 
wards the  assemblage  of  all  things  is  generous  ;  in  a 
word,  it  is  because  we  exist  individually  and  distinctly, 
that  we  can  choose  out  and  love  one  another.  What 
then  becomes  of  that  abstract  immortality  which  would 
strip  us  of  our  dearest  recollections  as  mere  accidental 
modifications  ? 

AVould  you,  say  they  in  Germany,  rise  again  in  all 
your  present  circumstances  f — Would  you  be  revived 
a  Baron,  or  a  IMarquis  ?  Certainly  not.  But  who 
would  not  rise  again  a  mother  or  a  daughter  ?  and  how 
could  we  be  ourselves  again,  if  we  had  no  longer  the 
same  feelings  of  friendship  ?  Vague  ideas  of  re-union 
with  nature  v/ill,  in  time,  destroy  the  empire  of  reli- 
gion over  our  souls  ;  for  religion  is  addressed  to  each 
of  us  individually.  Providence  protects  us  in  all  the 
details  of  our  lot.  Christianity  is  adapted  to  every 
mind,  and  sympathizes,  like  a  confidential  friend,  with 
the  v/ants  of  every  heart.  Pantheism.,  on  the  contra- 
Fy,  that  is,  nature  deified,  by  inspiring  religion  for  ev- 
ery thing,  disperses  it  over  the  world,  instead  of  con- 
centrating  it  in  ourselves. 

This  system  has  at  all  times  had  7iiany  partisans 
amongst  philosophers.  Thought  is  always  tending, 
TiiOre  and  more,  to  generalization  ;  and  the  labour  of  the 
mind,  in  extending  its  boundaries,  is  often  taken  for  a 
new  idea.  Vv^e  hope  to  ai'rive  at  a  knovrdedge  of  the 
universe,  as  of  space,  by  always  removing  fences,  and 
setting  difficulties  farther  from  us  without  resolving 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


them  ;  and  yet  we  are  no  nearer  to  infinity.  SentU 
ment  alone  reveals  it  to  us,  without  explaining  it. 

What  is  truly  admirable  in  German  philosophy  is 
the  examination  of  ourselves  to  which  it  ieads  ;  it  as- 
cends even  to  the  origin  of  the  v/ili,  even  to  the  un- 
known spring  of  the  course  of  our  life  ;  and  then  pen- 
etrating the  deepest  secrets  of  grief,  and  of  faith,  it 
enlightens  and  strengthens  us.  But  all  systems  which 
aspire  to  the  explanation  of  the  universe,  can  hardly 
be  analysed  with  clearness  by  any  expressions  :  words 
are  not  proper  for  ideas  of  this  kind,  and  the  conse- 
quence is,  that,  in  making  use  of  them,  ail  things  are 
overshadowed  by  the  darkness  v/hich  preceded  the 
creation,  not  illuminated  by  the  light  which  succeeded 
it.  Scientific  expressions,  lavished  on  a  subject  in 
which  every  one  feels  that  he  is  interested,  are  revolt- 
ing to  self-love.  These  writings,  so  difficult  to  com- 
prehend, however  serious  one  may  be,  give  occasion 
to  pleasantry ;  for  mistakes  are  ahvays  made  in  the 
dark.  It  is  pleasing  to  reduce,  to  a  few  leading  and 
accessible  assertions,  that  crowd  of  shades  and  re- 
strictions which  appear  quite  sacred  to  the  author  of 
them,  but  which  the  profane  soon  forget  or  confound. 

The  Orientalists  have  at  all  times  been  idealists, 
and  Asia  in  no  respect  resembles  the  south  of  Eu- 
rope, The  excessive  heat  in  those  countries  leads 
to  contemplation,  as  the  excessive  cold  of  the  north 
does.  The  religious  systems  of  India  are  very  m.el- 
anchoiy  and  spiritual,  v/hilst  the  people  of  the  south 
of  Europe  have  always  had  an  inclination  for  rather 
a  maierial  kind  of  Paganism.  The  learned  of  Eng- 
land, v^ho  have  travelled  into  India,  have  made  deep 
researches  about  Asia;  and  Germans  who  have  not 
had  opportunities,  like  the  princes  of  the  Ocean,  to 
inform  themselves  with  their  own  eyes,  have,  by 
dint  of  study  alone,  arrived  at  very  interesting  discov- 
eries on  the  religion,  the  literature,  the  languages  of 
the  Asiatic  nations ;  they  have  been  led  to  think,  from 
many  indications,  that  supernatural  lights  once  stionc 
upon  the  people  of  those  countries,  and  that  the  tra 
Ciss  of  it  still  remain  indelible.    The  philosophy  o 


GERMAN  PHILOSOPHER? 


170 


the  Indians  can  only  be  sufficiently  understood  by  the 
Geiinan  id'ea-ists;  a  simiiarity  of  opinion  assists  ihtra 
in  compreheicding  it. 

Frederic  Schlegel,  ret  ccr.ter.ted  with  the  kiiow- 
ledge  of  aimost  ail  the  languages  of  Furope,  devoted 
unhearri-of  labours  to  acquirinii;  the  knowledge  of  the 
couiitry  which  was  the  cradle  of  the  world.  The  work 
■which  he  has  ju^t  piibiished  on  the  language  and  phi- 
losophy of  the  Ii  diar.s,  contains  profound  views  and 
real  inf  rnjation  .w  orthy  tne  attention  of  enlightened 
men  in  Europe. 

He  thinks,  and  many  philosophers  (in  the  number 
of  whom  Baill)  maybe  reckoned)  have  maintained  the 
same  op^nlon,  t:-."  a  priniit've  p;:-opIe  inhabited  some 
parts  of  tiie  vici :  '  ,  [  :l:ci;;  iy  Asia,  at  a  period 
anterior  to  all  the  c.o(  iiQitnLb  of  history.  Frederic 
Scniegel  finds  the  traces  of  this  people  in  the  intel- 
lectual advancements  of  nations,  and  the  formation  of 
their  languages. — He  observes  a  remarkable  resem- 
blance between  the  leauing  ideas,  and  even  the  words 
which  express  them,  amongst  many  nations  of  the 
world,  even  when,  so  far  as  we  are  informed  by  histo- 
ry, they  have  riever  had  any  connexion  v>ith  each  other. 
Frederic  Schlegel  does  not  adopt  the  very  generally 
received  opinion,  that  men  began  in  the  savage  state, 
and  that  their  mutual  wants,  by  degrees,  tormed  lan- 
guages. Thus  to  a  tribute  the  development  of  the 
human  nund  and  soui  to  our  animal  nature,  is  to  give 
it  d  very  gross  origin,  and  reason  combats  the  hypoth- 
esis, as  mucn  as  imagination  rejects  it. 

We  can  hardly  conceive  by  what  gradation  it  would 
be  possible,  from  tne  cry  of  the  savage,  to  arrive  at 
the  periection  of  the  Greek  language ;  it  would  be 
said,  that,  in  the  progress  necessary  to  traverse  such 
an  infinite  distance,  every  step  would  cross  an  abyss  ; 
we  see,  in  our  days,  tnat  savages  do  notcivhize  them- 
selves, and  tnat  it  ib  from  neighbouring  naii  ns  that 
they  are  taught,  with  great  labour,  what  they  them- 
selves are  ignorant  of.  One  is  much  tempted,  tiicre- 
foiii,  to  think,  that  a  prin  itive  nation  cid  establish  the 
human  racej  and  whence  was  that  people  formed,  if 


180 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


not  from  revelauoi)  ?  All  natioiiS  imve  at  all  times,  ex- 
pres  .ed  regret  for  the  loss  of  a  state  of  happiness 
which  preceded  the  period  in  whicl)  they  existed  i 
ivht^T'ce  arises  this  idea,  so  widely  spread  ?  will  it  be 
said  it  is  an  error  ?  Krrors  that  are  universal  are  al- 
ways founded  upon  some  truth,  altered  and  disfigured 
perhaps,  but  bottomed  on  facts  concealed  in  the  night 
of  ages,  or  some  mysterious  powers  of  nature. 

Those  who  attribute  the  civilization  of  the  human 
race  to  the  effects  of  physical  wants  uniting  men  with 
one  another,  will  have  difQcuity  in  explainit^g  how  it 
happens,  that  the  moral  culture  of  t^e  most  ancient 
nations  is  more  poetical,  more  favourable  to  tne  fine 
arts,  in  a  word,  more  nobly  useless,  in  the  relations  of 
materialism,  than  all  the  rfcfiuemei?ts  of  modern  civili- 
zation. The  philosophy  of  the  Indians  is  ideal,  and 
their  reiie;ion  mystical :  certainly  it  is  not  the  necessity 
of  maintaining  order  in  society,  v^^hich  has  given  birth 
to  that  piiiiosophy,  or  to  that  religion. 

Poetry  has  almost  every  where  existed  before  prose  ; 
and  the  introduction  of  metres,  rhythm,  and  harmony, 
is  anterior  to  tlie  rigorous  pi  ecision,  and  consequently 
to  the  useful  employment  of  larsguages.  Astronomy 
has  not  been  studied  for  the  service  of  agriculture 
alone  :  But  the  Chaldeans,  Egyptians,  8^c.  have  carried 
their  researches  much  beyond  the  practical  advantages 
which  are  to  be  derived  from  it ;  and  the  love  of  hea- 
ven, and  the  worship  of  time,  are  supposed  to  be 
shown  in  these  profound  and  exact  observations,  re- 
specting tne  divisions  of  the  year,  the  courses  of  the 
stars,  and  the  periods  of  their  junction. 

In  China,  the  kings  were  the  first  astronomers  of 
their  country.  They  passed  nights  in  contemplating 
the  progress  of  the  stars,  and  their  royal  dignity  con- 
sisted in  those  exalted  species  of  knowledge,  and  in 
those  disinterested  occupations,  wnich  raised  them 
above  the  vulgar.  The  magnificent  system,  which 
considers  civilization  as  iiaving  for  its  origiii  a  religious 
revelation,  is  supported  by  an  eruaition,  of  whicti  die 
partisans  of  the  materialist  doctrines  are  seldom  capa- 


GEM^IAX  PHiL©SOPHERS. 


181 


hie  :  to  be  vv-hoHy  devoted  to  study,  is  to  be  almost  afi 
idealist  at  once. 

IMen  accustomed  to  deep  and  solitary  reflections, 
penetrate  so  forward  into  truth,  that,  in  my  opinion,  a 
man  must  be  ignorant  or  conceited  to  despise  any  of 
their  writings,  without  having  long  considered  them. 
There  were  formerly  many  errors  and  superstitions, 
which  were  attributable  to  want  of  knowledge  ;  but 
when,  with  the  li2:ht  of  our  times,  and  the  immense 
labours  of  individuals,  opinions  are  propounded  which 
are  beyond  the  circle  of  our  daily  experience,  it  is  a 
cause  of  rejoicing  to  the  human  race;  for  its  actual 
treasures  are  very  scanty,  at  least  if  one  may  judge  by 
the  use  made  of  it. 

In  reading  the  account  which  I  have  given  of  the 
principal  ideas  of  some  of  the  German  philoso- 
phers, on  the  one  hand,  their  partisans  will  discover, 
wdth  reason,  that  I  have  noticed,  very  superficialJy,  re- 
searches of  great  importance  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  world  will  ask.  Of  what  use  is  ail  this  ?  But  of 
what  use  are  the  Apollo  Beividere,  the  pictures  of 
Hdphael,  the  tragedies  of  Racine  ?  Of  what  use  is  ev- 
ery thing  fine,  if  not  to  the  mind  ?  It  is  the  same  with 
philosophy  ;  it  is  the  beamy  of  thought,  it  attests  the 
dignity  of  man,  who  is  able  to  occupy  himself  with 
what  is  external  and  invisible,  although  the  gross  par- 
ticles of  his  nature  would  remove  him  from  them. 

I  might  cite  many  other  names  justly  distinguished 
in  the  lists  of  philosophy ;  but  it  appears  to  me,  that 
this  sketch,  however  imperfect,  is  sufficient  to  serve 
as  an  introduction  to  the  examination  of  the  influence 
which  the  transcendant  philosophy  of  the  Germans  has 
exercised  over  the  development  of  the  mind,  and  over  the 
character  and  morality  of  the  nation  in  which  that  phi- 
losophy prevails ;  and  that,  above  all,  is  the  object  I 
propose  to  myself. 


VOL.  II. 


Q 


182 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MOHALS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

InJiiLcnce  of  the  new  German  Philosofihy  over  ths 
Development  of  the  Mi7id. 


Attention  is,  perhaps,  the  most  powerful  of  all 
the  faculties  of  the  human  mind  ;  and  it  cannot  be  de- 
nied, that  the  ideal  system  of  metaphysics  strength- 
ens it  in  a  surprising  manner.  BufPon  pretended  that 
genius  might  b  ;  acquired  by  patience  ;  that  was  saying 
too  much  ;  but  the  homage  thus  rendered  to  attention, 
under  the  name  of  patience,  does  great  honour  to  a 
man  of  so  brilliant  an  imagination.  Abstract  ideas 
require  great  efforts  of  meditation  ;  but  when  to  them 
is  joined  the  most  exact  and  persevering  observation 
,  of  the  inward  actions  of  the  wili,  the  whole  power  of 
intelUgence  is  at  once  employed.  Subtilty  is  a  great 
fault  in  the  affairs  of  this  world,  but  ceitainiy  the  Ger- 
mans are  not  suspected  of  it.  The  philosophical  sub- 
tilty, which  enables  us  to  unravel  the  minutest  threads 
of  our  thoughts,  is  exactly  the  best  calculated  to  ex- 
tend the  genius  ;  for  a  reflection,  from  which  the  sub- 
limest  inventions,  the  most  astonishhig  discoveries  may 
result,  passes  un perceived  within  us,  if  we  have  not 
acquired  the  habit  of  examining  with  sagacity  the  con- 
sequences and  connexions  of  ideas,  apparently  the 
most  remote  from  each  other. 

In  Germany,  a  supeiior  man  seldom  confines  him- 
self to  one  line.  Goethe  has  made  discoveries  in  sci- 
ence ;  Schelling  is  an  excellent  Wiiter;  Frederic 
Sc  ijegel,  a  poet  full  of  ori-viriaiity.  A  great  number 
of  different  taients  cannot,  perhap;^,  be  united  ;  but 
the  view  cf  the  understanding  ought  to  embrace  every 
thing. 

The  new  German  phiiosophy  is  -necessarily  more 
favourable  th  m  any  other  to  the  extension  of  the  mind; 
for,  referring  every  thing  to  the  focus  of  the  soul,  and 


NET\'  GER^L^X  PHILOSOPHY. 


.  :rj  side  ring  the  wcrlcl  itself  as  goveiTicd  by  lav.'s.  the 
■  ^e  of  which  is  in  ourselves  ;  it  does  not  adnut  the 
;  :ji'.dice  ^Yhich  destines  every  man  exclusively  to 
:h  or  such  a  branch  of  study.    The  idealists  belie ve^ 
...it  an  art,  a  science,  or  any  other  subject,  car.rct  be 
v..:derstood  vrithout  an  universal  knowledge,  anci  that 
from  the  smallest  phenomenon  up  to  the  greatest, 
r.cihing  can  be  learneciy  examined,  or  poeticalh  de- 
;  :ribed,  without  that  elevation  of  mind  which  sees  the 
i.ole,  while  it  is  describmg  the  parts. 
Montesquieu  says,  t/iat  \vit  cojisUts  in  kncivirig  the 
resemblance  of  :hi  g-<  Kvhich  differ^  ar.ci  :/;-  cyfereyice 
cf  things  \i'hich  ere  c^ik:.    If  ti;ere  con.:.  exU:  a  theo^ 
ry  v.-hich  would  teach  a  :  ;      ■  v.-  to  become  a  wii,  it 
would  be  that  cf  the   u._  :.\^  as  the  Germans 

co.iceive  it  ;  there  is  no  orjc  more  favourable  to  ingen- 
ious approximations  between  external  objects  ar^d  ihe 
f:.cuLies  of  the  mind  :  tney  are  the  diacrert  rac.ii  of 
:/-e  same  centre.  Most  physical  axiomjs  correspond 
with  mor-ai  truths  ;  and  universal  philosophy,  in  a 
thousand  ways,  represents  Nature  always  the  same, 
and  always  varying  ;  who  is  rejected,  at  full  length, 
in  every  one  of  her  works,  and  gives  the  stanrp  of  the 
universe  to  the  blade  cf  gra^s,  as  well  as  to  :ne  cedar. 

This  philosophy  gives  a  singular  attracticn  to  all 
kinds  of  stuciy.  Th-  ci-covericb  which  we  make  with- 
in ourselves  a:  c  ai'.vays  interestmg  ;  but  if  it  is  true 
that  they  would  enlighten  us,  on  the  miysteries  evei:i  of 
a  world  created  in  cur  image,  what  curiosity  do  they 
not  inspire  r  The  conversation  of  a  German  philoso- 
pher, such  as  those  I  have  named,  cans  to  mind  the 
dialogues  of  Plato  ;  and  when  you  question  one  of 
these  irien,  upon  any  subject  whatever,  he  throws  so 
much  light  on  it,  that,  hi  listenn^g  to  hiu},  you  seem  to 
think  for  the  fii'st  time,  if  to  think  be,  as  Spinosa  savs, 
to  idenn/:.  cne-^<'f  ^i:h  Xiui.rc  bj  :K:c:.ige?icc-,  ahd'  to 

So  many  nev>  iaeas,  on  literary  and  philosophical 
subjects,  have,  for  mic  years  past,  been  in  circula- 
tioii  in  Germany,  that  a  stmnger  might  very  well  Lake 
a  m.an^  vaiQ  should  oniy  repeat  these  ideas,  for  a  su- 


184 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


perior  genius.  It  has  sometimes  happened  to  me,  t©- 
give  men,  ordinary  enough  in  other  respects,  credit 
for  prodigious  minds,  only  because  they  had  become 
familiarized  with  the  system  of  the  idealists,  the  day- 
star  of  a  new  life. 

The  faults  for  which  the  Germans  are  commonly 
reproached  in  conversation,  slowness  and  pedantry,  are 
remarked  infinitely  less  in  the  disciples  of  the  modern 
school  :  persons  of  the  first  rank,  in  Germany,  have 
formed  themselves,  for  the  most  part,  according  to 
good  French  manners  ;  but  now  there  is  estabiished 
amongst  the  philosophers  and  men  of  letters,  a  sort  of 
education,  also  in  good  taste,  although  of  quite  anoth- 
er kind.  True  elegance  is  considered  as  inseparable 
from  a  poeiical  imagination,  and  love  for  the  fine  arts, 
and  politeness,  as  united  to  knowledge  and  to  the  ap- 
preciation of  talents  and  natural  qualities. 

It  cannot,  however,  be  denied,  that  the  new  philo- 
sophical and  literary  system.s  have  inspired  their  parti- 
sans with  great  contempt  for  those  who  do  not  under- 
staiKl  them.  The  wit  of  the  French  always  aims  at 
humliiating  by  ridicule  ;  its  plan  is  to  avoid  the  idea, 
in  order  to  attack  the  person,  and  the  substance,  in 
order  to  iaugh  at  the  form.  I'he  Germans  of  the  new 
school  look  upon  ignorance  and  frivolity  as  diseases  of 
prolonged  infancy  :  they  do  not  confine  themselves  to 
contests  with  strans^ers,  but  they  attack  each  other  with 
bitterness  ;  and  to  hear  them,  one  would  suppose,  that 
to  possess  a  single  additional  degree,  either  of  abstrac- 
tion or  of  profundity,  conferred  a  right  to  treat  as  vul- 
gar and  narrow-minded  all  those  who  would  not  oi' 
could  not  attain  it. 

When  men's  minds  are  irritated  by  obstacles,  ex- 
aggeration  becomes  m.ixed  with  that  philosophical  rev- 
olution, which,  in  other  respects,  is  so  salutary.  The 
Germans  of  the  new  school  penetrate  into  the  interioi? 
of  the  soul,  with  the  torch  of  genius.  But  when  they 
are  required  to  introduce  their  ideas  into  the  minds  of 
others,  they  are  at  a  loss  for  the  means,  and  begin  to 
affect  contempt  for  their  hearers,  because  they  are  ig- 
norant, not  ol  the  truth  itssll,  b^ut  of  the  means  of  im^ 


NEW  GERMAX  PHILOSOPHY. 


185 


ppa'ting  it.  Contempt,  except  for  vice,  argues  almost 
always  a  limited  mind  ;  for,  Vvdtih  a  greater  share  of  under- 
standing, we  could  make  ourselves  understood  even  by 
vulgar  minds,  or  at  least  v/e  might  sincerely  endeav> 
our  to  do  so. 

The  talent  of  methodical  and  clear  expression  is  very 
mre  in  Germany  :  it  is  not  acquired  by  speculative 
studies.  We  must  (as  it  were)  place  ourselves  with- 
out our  own  thoughts,  to  judge  of  the  form  which 
should  be  given  to  them.  Philosophy  teaches  the 
knovvdedge  of  7?2c;^,  rather  than  of  men.  Habits  of 
society  alone  teach  us  the  relation  our  m.inds  bear  to 
those  of  others.  Sincere  and  serious  philosophers  are 
led,  first  by  candour,  and  then  by  pride,  to  feel  irritated 
against  those  who  do  not  think  or  feel  as  they  do.  The 
Germans  seek  for  truth  conscientiously ;  but  they 
have  a  very  warm  spirit  of  party  in  favour  of  the  doc- 
trine which  they  adopt ;  for,  in  the  heart  of  man  every 
thing  degenerates  into  passion. 

But  notwithstanding  the  diversity  of  opinions,  which, 
in  Germany,  form  schools  in  opposition  to  one  another, 
they  tend  equally,  for  the  most  part,  to  display  activity 
of  mind;  so  that  there  is  no  country  where  every  man 
makes  more  advantage  of  himself,  at  least  in  regard 
to  intellectual  labours. 


yoL.  ii>-. 


186 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Injliience  of  the  new  German  Philosophy  on  Litera- 
ture and  the  Arts, 


HAT  I  have  jnst  said  on  the  development  of  the 
mind,  applies  likewise  to  literature  ;  yet  it  may  be  in- 
teresting to  add  some  particular  observations  to  these 
general  reflections. 

In  those  countries  where  it  is  supposed  that  all  our 
ideas  have  their  origin  in  external  objects,  it  is  na- 
tural to  set  a  higher  value  on  the  observance  of  gra- 
ces or  forms,  the  empire  of  which  is  placed  without 
lis :  but  where,  on  the  other  hand,  men  feel  convinced 
of  the  immutable  laws  of  moral  existence,  society 
lias  less  power  over  every  individual :  men  treat  of  ev- 
ery thing  with  themselves  ;  and  what  is  deemed  essen- 
tial, as  well  in  the  productions  of  thought  as  in  the 
actions  of  life,  is,  that  they  spring  from  inv/ard  con- 
Tiction  and  spontaneous  feeling. 

There  are  in  style,  some  qualities  which  are  con- 
nected with  truth  in  the  sentiment  expressed,  and  there 
are  others  which  depend  on  grammatical  correctness. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  make  ihe  Germans  understand, 
that  the  first  thing  to  look  for  in  a  w(  rk,  is  the  man- 
ner in  whicn  it  is  written,  and  that  the  execution  of  it 
should  be  of  more  importance  than  the  conception. 
In  experimental  phiiosophy,  a  work  is  esteemed, 
above  all  tilings,  according  to  the  ingenious  and  lucid 
form,  under  which  it  is  presented ;  in  ideal  philoso- 
phy, on  the  contrary,  where  all  attraction  is  in  the  fo- 
cus of  the  mind,  those  writers  only  are  admired  who 
approach  the  nearest  to  that  point. 

It  must  be  admitted  too,  that  the  habit  of  searching* 
into  the  most  hidden  mysteiies  of  our  beii  g,  gives 
the  mind  a  taste  for  what  is  deepest,  and  sometnnes 
for  what  is  most  obscure  in  thought.  Thus  the  Ger* 
Hfians  too  often  blend  metaphysics  with  poetry. 


XE^V  GEHMAX  PHELOSOPIIY. 


18T 


The  new  philosophy  mspires  us  with  the  necessity 
of  rising  to  thoughts  and  sentiments  without  bounds. 
This  impulse  may  be  favourable  to  genius,  but  it  is  so 
to  genius  alone*  and  it  often  gives  to  those  who  ar© 
destitute  of  genius  very  ridiculous  pretensions.  In 
France,  mediocrity  finds  every  thing  too  powerful  and 
too  exaited  ;  in  Germany,  it  fii.ds  nothing  so  hi.u:h  as 
the  new  doctrine.  In  France,  mediocrity  laughs  at 
enthusiasm;  in  Germany,  it  despises  a  certain  sort  of 
reason.  A  writer  can  never  do  enough  to  convince 
German  readers  that  his  ideas  are  not  superficial,  that 
he  is  occupied,  in  ail  things,  witii  the  immortal  and 
the  infinite.  But  as  the  taculties  of  the  mind  are  not 
always  correspondent  to  such  vast  desires,  it  often  hap- 
pcfiS  that  gigantic  efforts  produce  but  common  re- 
sults. Nevertheless,  this  general  disposition  assists 
t-  - ;  d;ghtof  thought ;  and  it  is  easier,  in  literature,  ta 
set  bounds,  than  to  give  emulation. 

The  taste  wnich  the  Germans  snow  for  what  is  play- 
ful and  simple,  and  of  wnich  I  have  already  had  occa- 
sion to  speak,  seems  to  be  in  contraciiction  to  their  in- 
clination for  metaphysics — an  inclination  which  arises 
from  the  desire  of  knowing  and  of  analysing  one-self : 
at  tr.e  same  time,  it  is  to  the  influence  of  a  system 
that  we  are  to  refer  this  taste  for  playful  simplicity  ; 
for,  in  Germat  y,  tnere  is  philosophy  in  every  thing, 
even  in  the  imagination.  One  of  the  first  characteris- 
tics of  simplicity  is  to  express  what  is  feit  or  thought, 
isrithcut  reflecting  on  any  result,  or  aiming  at  any  ob- 
ject ;  and  it  is  in  that  respect  that  it  agrees  with  the 
theory  of  the  Germans  on  literature. 

In  separating  tne  beautiful  from  the  useful,  Kant 
clearly  proves,  that  it  is  not  in  tne  nature  of  the  fine 
arts  to  give  lessons.  Undouotedly,  eveiy  tning  that 
is  beautiful  ou^^nt  to  give  birth  to  generous  senti- 
ments, and  tnose  sentiments  excite  to  virtue  ;  but  \\hen 
the  object  is  to  put  in  proof  a  precept  of  morality,  the 
free  impression  produced  by  masterpieces  of  art  is 
necessariiy  destroyed;  for  the  object  aimed  at,  bt  it 
what  it  «iil,  when  ii  is  known,  iinnts  and  confines  the 
imagiiiation.    It  is  related,  tuat  Louis  XIV.  once  said 


188 


PHILOSOPHY  AN0  SIORALS, 


to  a  preacher,  who  had  directed  a  sermon  agamst  him^ 
«  I  am  ready  enough  to  take  to  myself  my  share,  but 
«  I  will  not  have  it  allotted  for  me."  These  words 
might  be  applied  to  the  fine  arts  in  general :  they  ought 
to  elevate  the  mind,  and  not  to  schr>ol  it. 

Nature  often  displays  her  mapjnificence  without  any 
aim,  and  often  with  a  profuseness,  which  the  partisans 
of  utility  would  call  prodigal.  She  seems  to  delight: i 
in  giving  more  splendour  to  the  flowers,  to  the  trees- 
of  the  forest,  than  to  the  vegetables  which  serve  for 
the  food  of  man.  If  what  is  useful  held  the  first  rank 
in  nature,  would  she  not  adorn  the  nutritious  plants 
with  more  charms  than  roses,  which  are  only  beautiful  I 
And  whence  comes  it,  that  to  deck  the  altar  of  the 
Divinity  with  flowers  which  are  useless,  should  be 
preferred  to  doing  it  with  the  productions  which  are 
necessary  to  us?  How  happens  it,  that  what  serves, 
for  the  support  of  our  lives,  has  less  dignity  than  beau- 
ties which  have  no  object  ?  It  is  because  the  beautiful 
recalls  to  our  minds  an  immortal  and  divine  existence,, 
the  recollection  and  the  regret  of  which  live  at  the 
same  time  in  our  hearts 

It  certainly  is  not  from  a  want  of  understanding  the 
moral  value  of  what  is  useful,  that  Kant  has  separa- 
ted it  from  the  beautiful ;  it  is  to  ground  admn^ation  of 
every  kind  on  absolute  disinterestedness;  it  is  in  or- 
der to  give  sentiments  which  render  vice  impossible, 
the  preference  over  the  lessons  which  only  serve  to 
eorrect  it. 

The  mythological  fables  of  the  ancients  were  sel- 
dom intended  as  moral  exhortations,  or  edifying  ex- 
amples ;  and  it  does  not  at  all  argue  that  the  moderns 
are  better  than  the  ancients,  that  ihey  oftener  endeav- 
our to  give  an  useful  result  to  their  fictions ;  it  is  rath- 
er because  they  have  less  imagination,  and  carry  into 
literature  the  habit  which  business  gives,  of  always 
aiming  at  some  object.  Events,  as  they  exist  in  reality, 
are  not  calculated  beforehand,  like  a  fiction,  the  wind- 
ing up  of  which  is  moral.  Life  itself  is  conceived  in 
quite  a  poetical  manner:  f.  r  it  is  not,  in  general,  be* 
cause  th«  guilty  man  is  punished,  aud  the  virtuous 


^'EW  GER]MAy  PHILOSOPHY. 


189 


man  revrarded,  that  it  makes  a  moral  impression  upon 
us  ;  it  is  because  it  devclopes  in  the  m^ind  indig-natioQ 
against  the  guilty,  and  enthusiasm  tovrards  the  virtu« 
ous. 

The  Gern~ians  do  not,  accordino-  to  the  common  no- 
tion, consider  the  imitation  of  nature  as  the  principal 
object  of  art;  it  is  ideal  beauty  ^vhich  appears  to  them 
the  principle  of  all  masterpieces;  and  their  poetical 
theory  accords,  in  this  respect,  \vith  their  philosop'-.y. 
The  impression  made  on  us  by  the  fine  arts  has  no- 
thing whatever  in  common  with  the  pleasure  we  feel 
from  a.ny  imitation  ;  man  has  in  his  soul  innate  senti- 
ments which  objects  of  reality  will  never  satisfy,  and 
it  is  to  these  sentiments  tnat  the  imagination  of  painters 
and  poets  gives  form  and  life.  Of  vrhat  is  music,  the 
first  of  all  arts,  an  imitation  ?  And  yet,  of  all  the  gifts 
ct  the  Divinity,  it  is  the  most  noble  ;  for  it  may  be 
said  to  be  a  superfluous  one.  The  sun  gives  us 
light — v/e  breathe  the  air  of  a  serene  atmosphere — 
all  the  beauties  of  nature  are.  in  some  way,  service^ 
able  to  n^an ;  music  alone  has  a  noble  inutility,  and 
it  is  for  that  reason  that  it  affects  us  so  deeply;  the 
more  it  is  without  an  object,  the  nearer  it  approach- 
es to  that  inward  source  of  our  thoughts,  vrhich  ap- 
plication to  any  object  whatever  checks  in  its  course. 

The  literary  theory  of  the  Germans  differs  from  all 
©thers,  in  not  subjecting  wi iters  to  customs,  nor  to 
tyrannical  restrictions.  It  is  a  creative  theory,  aphilos  = 
ophy  of  the  fine  arts,  which,  instead  of  confining  them, 
seeks  like  Prom.etheus,  to  steal  fire  from  hea^•en,  to 
give  it  to  the  poets.  Did  Homer,  Dante,  or  Shaks- 
peare,  I  shall  be  asked,  knovr  any  thing  of  all  this? 
Did  they  stand  in  need  of  all  this  metaphysical  reason- 
ing to  be  great  -writers  ?  Nature,  undoubtedly,  has  not 
waited  for  philosophy;  \\hicli  means  only,  that  tiie 
fact  preceded  the  obseivation  of  tne  fact  ;  but,  as  wq 
have  reached  the  epoch  of  theoiies,  should  we  not  be 
on  our  guard  against  those  which  may  stifle  talent  ? 

It  must,  however,  be  aUowed,  that  many  essential 
inconveniences  result  from  the  applicadoii  of  these 
systems  of  philosophy  to  literature.    Germ.an  reader-si 


j  90  PHILOSOPHY  ANB  MORALS. 


accustomed  to  peruse  Kant,  Fichte,  &c.  consider  a 
less  degree  of  obscurity  as  clearness  itself ;  and  wri- 
ters do  not  always  to  works  of  art  tliat  striking 
clearness  which  is  so  necessary  to  them.  Constant  at- 
tention may,  nay,  onglit  to,  be  exacted  where  abstract 
ideas  are  the  subject;  but  emotions  are  involuntary. 
In  the  enjoyment  of  the  arts,  induipence,  effort,  and 
reflection  can  have  no  place  :  what  we  have  to  deal 
■with  there  is  pleasure,  and  not  reasoning-  ;  philoso- 
pliy  rnay  require  attentive  examination,  but  poetical 
talent  ought  to  carry  us  away  with  it. 

Ingenious  ideas,  derived  from  theories,  cause  illu- 
sion as  to  the  real  nature  of  talent.  They  prove,  with 
wit,  that  such  or  such  a  piece  ought  not  to  have  pleas- 
ed, but  still  it  did  please  ;  and  then  they  begin  to  des- 
pise those  who  like  it.  They  prove  that  another  piece, 
composed  according  to  certain  principles,  ought  to  in- 
terest;  and  yet,  when  they  would  have  it  performed, 
when  they  say  to  it,  "  ^rhe^  and  walk"  the  piece  does 
not  go  off ;  and  then  they  despise  those  who  are  not 
amused  with  a  work  composed  according  to  the  laws 
of  harmony,  between  the  ideal  and  the  real.  People  are 
generally  wrong  when  they  find  fault  with  the  judg- 
ment of  the  public  in  the  arts,  for  popular  impressions 
are  more  philosophical  than  even  philosophy  itself ; 
and  when  the  ideas  of  men  of  information  do  not  agree 
with  this  impression,  it  is  not  because  they  are  too 
profound,  but  rather  because  they  are  not  deep 
enough. 

It  appears  to  me,  however,  infinitely  better  for  the 
literature  of  a  country,  that  its  poetical  system  should  | 
be  founded  upon  philosophical  notions,  even  if  they  1 
are  a  little  abstract,  than  upon  simple  external  ruies; 
for  these  rules  are  but  wooden  bars  to  prevent  chil^ 
dren  from  falling. 

In  their  imitation  of  the  ancients,  the  Germans  have 
taken  quite  a  different  direction  from  the  rest  of 
Europe.  The  conscientious  character,  from  which 
they  never  depart,  has  prevented  t)>eir  mixing  together 
modern  and  ancient  genius  ;  they  treat  fiction  in  some 
respects  like  truth,  for  they  find  means  to  be  scrupu- 


^'EW  C4EH>IAX  PHILOSOPHY. 


191 


lous  even  in  regard  to  that  ;  they  apply  the  same  dis- 
posinoii  to  acquire  an  exact  and  thoroivj-h  knowied;^e 
cf  f  e  rio- u  t^nts  whicii  are  ( eft  113  cf  p:\;t  : ,  - In 
G.  rn.--j.y.  t.  c  stur  v  of  antic^uu v,  like  th.tt  c:  ::.c  sci- 
e'  -  an.'  'f't  p.  i  ;  -  -  y,  unites  the  scatte^'cd  orai^cnes 
o,  :  e  i^uiiia.j  n^]:  c 

i-L  v  ;:e,  wit!'  a  v.-oirCit  rful  qi)icknes?  of  apprehension, 
er  L^act  s  eve:^  '  ^^'  g:  taat  itiates  to  literature,  to  his- 
tc  -  .  f.rid  tr.  I:  c  ti  :L  arts.  F;'om  the  most  reSned  cb- 
se.  \.t'or.5  Woii  draws  the  boldest  ivifi' rer.ces.  and,  ciis- 
daii.i.:i;  ail  submisirion  to  authority,  aclr.pts  an  opi;  ion 
cf  -.IS  ow.j  of  the  wortn  and  aut/.er,ticity  of  the  ^vri- 
tiiigsof  the  Greeks.  In  a  late  ccnipL  ^iuor:  by  M.  Ch. 
de  Viiiers,  whom  I  huve  already  meiitioned  wit.i  the 
hi.^h  esteem  he  deserves,  it  may  be  seen  what  ;m= 
inense  works  are  pubiis!  ed  every  yecr  in  Germany  on 
the  classical  auti.ors.  The  Germans  believe  them- 
selves called  iri  every  thin s:^  to  act  the  part  of  observ- 
ers ;  and  it  may  De  said  taat  tiieyare  not  of  the  age  they 
live  in,  so  n  uca  do  their  reflections  and  ijiclhiations 
turn  towards  another  epoch  ot  the  world. 

It  may  be  tiiat  the  best  tinie  for  poetry  was  during 
the  age  of  ignorance,  and  that  the  youthful  season  of 
the  human  race  is  gone  for  ever;  but,  in  the  writiijgs 
of  t-e  Germans,  we  seem  to  feel  a  new  youth  again 
revivniganri  springing  up  fiom  the  noble  choice  wijich 
maybe  made  by  those  to  whom  every  thing  is  known. 
The  age  of  light  has  its  innocence,  as  well  as  the 
gciden  age  ;  and  if  man,  during  his  infancy,  believes 
only  in  his  soul,  he  returns,  v\nen  he  has  iearnt  eyerr 
^hing.  to  conticle  in  nothing  else. 


192 


MILOSOPHY  AND  MORAl^S, 


CHAPTER  X. 

Injluence  of  the  7iew  FhilosQ/ihy  on  the  Sciences. 


There  is  no  doubt  that  the  ideal  philosophy  leads 
to  the  augmentation  of  knowledge;  and  by  disposing 
the  mind  to  turn  back  upoi;  itself,  increases  its  pene- 
tration and  perseverance  in  intellectual  labour.  But 
is  this  philosophy  equally  favourable  to  the  sciences, 
which  consist  in  the  observation  of  nature  ?  It  is  to  the 
examination  of  this  question  that  the  following  reflec- 
tions are  destined  :-— 

The  progress  of  the  sciences  in  the  last  century  has 
generally  been  attributed  to  the  experimental  philoso- 
phy ;  and  as  the  observation  is  of  great  importance  to 
this  subject,  men  have  been  thought  more  certain  of 
attaining  to  scientific  truths,  in  proportion  as  they  attach- 
ed more  importance  to  external  objects  ;  yet  the  coun- 
try of  Keppler  and  Leibnitz  is  not  to  be  despised  for 
science.  The  principal  modern  discoveries,  gunpow- 
der and  the  art  of  printing,  have  been  made  by  the 
Germans  ;  and,  nevertheless,  men's  minds  in  Germa- 
ny iiave  always  tended  towards  idealism. 

Bacon  compared  speculative  philosophy  to  the  lark, 
-who  mounts  to  the  sky,  and  descends  again  without 
bringing  any  thing  back  from  tier  flight  ;  and  experi- 
mental philosophy  to  the  falcon,  who  soars  as  high, 
but  returns  with  his  prey. 

Perhaps  in  our  days  Bacon  vi^ouid  have  felt  the  in- 
conveniencies  of  philosophy  purely  experimental;  it 
has  turned  thought  into  sensation,  morality  into  self« 
interest,  and  nature  into  mechanism  ;  it  tends  to  de- 
grade all  things.  The  Germans  have  combatted  its 
Influence  in  the  physical  sciences,  as  well  as  in  science 
of  a  higher  order ;  and  whih-  they  submit  nature  to 
the  fullest  observation,  tbey  consider  her  pi^seiiomcna^ 
in  general,  in  a  vast  and  animated  manner ;  the  empire 


IXTLUEXCE  OF  TIiE  XEW  PHILOSOPHY.  193 


of  an  G oi;iion  o  ver  the  imagination  always  alTords  a  pre- 
sumption in  its  favour  ;  for  every  thing  tells  us,  that 
beauty,  in  the  sublime  conception  of  the  universe,  is 
truth. 

Tiie  new  philosophy  has  already  exerted  its  influ- 
ence, in  many  respects,  over  the  physical  sciences  in 
Germany.  In  the  first  place^  the  same  spirit  of 
universality,  wiiich  I  have  remarked  in  the  men  of 
literature  and  the  philosophers^  aho  discovers  itself 
among  tiie  men  of  science.  Humboldt  relates,  like  an 
accurate  observer,  the  perilous  traveis  vdnch  he  un- 
dertook like  a  brave  chevalier;  and  his  vrritings  are 
equally  interesting  to  naturalists  and  to  poets.  Scheliing, 
Bader,  Schubert,  S^c.  have  published  works,  in  which 
the  sciences  are  presented  Uiider  a  point  of  view  that 
captivates  both  our  reiiection  and  our  imagination  ; 
an.d,  long  previous  to  the  existence  of  modern  meta- 
physicians, Kcppler  and  Haller  knewtlie  art  of  observ- 
ing nature,  and  at  the  same  time  of  conjecturing  her 
operations, 

Tne  attraction  of  society  is  so  great  in  France,  that 
it  allows  nobody  much  time  for  labour.  It  is  natural 
then  not  to  place  reliance  upon  those  ^\'ho  attempt  to 
unite  many  studies  of  different  denominations.  But, 
in  a  country  where  the  whole  life  of  a  man  may  be 
given  up  to  m.editation,  it  is  reasonable  to  encourage 
the  n:uitifariousness  of  knov>dedge  ; — :-the  student 
eventually  conSnes  his  attention  to  that  pursuit  v»diich 
be  prefers  ;  but  it  is,  perhaps,  impo^siijie  to  attain 
a  thorough  comprehension  of  one  science,  and  not  to 
toucn  upon  ali.  Sir  Humphry  Davy,  althctigh  the 
first  chemist  in  England,  studies  literature  with  as 
mucn  taste  as  success.  Literature  and  science  reflect 
alternate  light  upon  each  other  ;  and  the  connexion 
which  exists  between  all  the  objects  in  nature,  must 
also  be  maintained  among  the  ideas  of  man. 

Universaiiiy  of  kn/jwied.:^e  necessarily  leads  to  the 
desire  of  discovering  the  general  laws  of  the  order 
of  nature.  Tne  Germans  descend  from  theory  to  ex- 
perieijce  ;  while  Vje  French  ascend  from  ex^.crience 
to  taeory.    The  French  reproach  the  Germans  with 

VOL.  II,  E. 


194 


PHILOSOPKY  AND  MORALS. 


Laving  no  beauties  but  those  of  detail  in  their  litera- 
ture, and  with  not  understanding  the  comfiosition  of  a 
"ivork.  The  Germans  reproach  the  French  with  con- 
sidering only  particular  facts  in  the  sciences,  and  with 
not  referring  them  to  a  system  :  in  this  consists  the 
principal  difference  between  the  learned  men  of  the 
two  countries. 

In  fact,  if  it  was  possible  to  discover  the  principles 
which  govern  the  universe,  this  would  be  the  point, 
indisputably,  from  which  we  ought  to  commence  in 
studying  all  that  is  derived  from  those  principles  ;  but 
we  are  almost  entirely  ignorant  of  the  collective  cha- 
racter of  every  thing,  excepting  in  what  detail  teaches 
V!s  ;  and  nature,  for  the  eye  of  man,  is  but  the  scat- 
tered Sibyl's  leaves,  out  of  which,  even  to  this  day, 
no  human  being  has  composed  a  book.  Nevertheless, 
the  learned  men  of  Germany,  who  are  philosophers 
at  the  same  time,  diffuse  a  surprising  interest  over  the 
phsenomena  of  this  world :  they  do  not  examine  na- 
ture fortuitously,  or  according  to  the  accidental  course 
of  what  they  experience  ;  but  they  predict,  by  reflec- 
tion, what  observation  is  about  to  connrrn. 

Two  great  general  opinions  serve  them  for  guides 
in  studying  the  sciences; — the  one,  that  the  universe 
is  made  after  the  model  of  the  human  soul ;  theother^ 
that  the  analogy  of  every  part  of  the  universe,  with  its 
ivholcy  is  so  close,  that  the  same  idea  is  constantly 
reflected  from  the  whole  in  every  part,  and  from  every 
part  in  the  whole. 

It  is  a  fine  conception,  that  has  a  tendency  to  dis- 
cover the  resemblance  between  the  laws  of  the  hun'»an 
understanding  and  those  of  nature,  and  that  considers 
the  physical  world  as  the  basso-relievo  of  the  moral. 
If  the  same  genius  was  capable  of  composing  the 
Iliad,  and  of  carving  like  Phidias,  the  Jupiter  of  the 
sculptor  would  resemble  the  Jupiter  of  the  poet. 
Why  then  should  not  the  supreme  loteliigence, 
which  formed  nature  and  the  soul,  have  made  one 
the  emblem  of  the  other  ?  There  is  no  vain  play  of 
fancy  in  those  continual  metaphors  which  aid  us' in 
comparing  our  sentiments  with  external  phsenomena  ; 
sadness,  with  the  clouded  heaven  j  composure,  with 


4 


IXFLUEyCE  OF  TKEl  NZW  PHILOSOPHY,  19-5 


the  silver  moonlight ;  anger,  with  the  storrny  sea  : — 
it  is  the  same  thought  of  cur  Cre?.:-:?.  rr?,nsfa5ed  iijto 
two  different  la::.  5.  and  cap:.: f  :  r:ip:  ccal  in- 
terpretation. Almo-:  all  the  asion- s  ::  -  ysics  corres- 
pond with  tJie  maxims  of  morals.  T;.::^  species  oi  paral- 
lel progress,  wh':>  rr.av  be  perceive  .:  :  e  / -ee::  :ae  world 
and  the  mind,  is:l:e  ::: :  ::adon  of  a  :a  ;:":y  ;  and 

every  understanding  v.ould  be  sti uck  v.::.i  i;,  if  any 
positive  discoveries  had  yet  been  drawn  from  this 
source ; — but  still,  the  e::::e:  :;.:  :  iv.sire  taa:  already 
streams  from  it  car::ef  ::  .    :,    :  ::  ay:ea:  dl^caaee. 

Tlie  ana'e  v'eE  ";  e:- 'rca  :/-e  :a:  ::::  el e  : e:  :5  of  ex- 
ternal natci-i  -.:.,e:l-.::-  ;:::;:!:  :e  ..::  la-.v  of  the 
creation — variety  in  unity,  and  u:h:y  :::  variety.  Foe 
example,  What  is  there  more  aj:c:::il:i  ::  :l.an  the 
connexion  between  sounds  and  forms,  a:e  ::  een 
5?-nd5and  colours?  A  German  'Chladni^  1...  ■  :c»¥- 
■      r::  ::::_;. .:::,  :a:,:  euv   -._:'::::::;       .:aa:l  put 

'-hen  txe  tones  are  pure,  the  sand 
i  ■ : :  o  r  e  g  u  1  ar  f o  rrn  5 ,  a  r.  d  w  hen  t  h  e  tones 
are  discordant,  there  is  no  symmetry  in  the  figures 
traced  upon  the  glass.  Sanderson,  who  was  blind  fi'om 
his  birth,  said,  that  the  colour  of  scaeh:.  his  idea, 
"was  like  the  sound  cf  a  truuae  e:  :  aud  a  mathematician 
wiEUid  ue;he  a  l  evy  ;l:h::  e  :e  eyes,  which  might 
imitate,  by  the  har:uouy  oi  colours,  the  -eleasure  ex- 
cited by  music.  We  incessantly  corny: :  _  y elating  to 
Biusie  ;  because  the  eme  :  :  e  feel  discover  analo- 
gies where  cold  observ:  l:u  v  ould  only  have  seen 

—  "u;:y  plant,  every  fiower,  contains  the  e::h  'e  sys- 
tem CI  the  universe  :  an  instant  of  life  ccu:ea.£  e:err 
nity  within  it;  the  weakest  atom  is  a  worl:.  aad  the 
■ft'orld  itself,  perchance,  is  but  an  atom.  Every  por- 
tion of  the  universe  appears  to  be  a  mirror,  in  which 
the  whole  creation  is  represented ;  and  we  hardly  know 
\^hich  is  most  worthy  of  our  admiration,  thought  al- 
yways  the  same,  or  form  alvravs  difterent. 

The  learned  among  the  Germans  may  be  divided 
uitr>  twc  classes — those  who  entirely  devote  thenr- 


... 


196 


FHILOSOFHY  A^JD  MORALS. 


selves  to  observation,  and  those  who  aspire  to  the 
honour  of  foreseeing  the  secrets  of  nature.  Of  the 
former  we  ought  first  to  mention  Werner,  who  lias 
drawn  from  mineralogy  his  knowledge  of  the  forma- 
tion of  the  globe,  and  of  the  epoch  of  history  ;  Her- 
schel  and  Schroeter,  who  are  incessantly  making  new 
discoveries  in  the  heavenly  regions;  the  calculating 
astronomers,  such  as  Zach  and  Bode ;  and  great  che- 
Biists,  iike  Kiaproth  and  Bucholz  :  while  in  tlse  class 
of  philosophical  naturalists  we  must  reckon  Schelling, 
Eitter,  Bader,  Steffens,  Sec.  The  most  distinguished 
geniuses  of  these  two  classes  approach  and  understand 
€iich  other  ;  for  the  phiiosopliical  naturali»its  cannot 
despise  experience,  and  the  profound  observers  do  not 
deny  the  possible  results  of  sublime  contemplations. 

Attraction  and  impulse  have  already  been  tlie  objects 
of  novei  inquiry  ;  ayxi  they  have  been  happily  applied 
to  chemical  affiiiities'.  Light,  considered  as  a  medium 
between  matter  and  mind,  has  given  occasion  for  seve- 
ral highly  philosophical  observations.  A  v/ork  of 
Goethe  upon  colours  is  favourably  mentioned.  In 
short,  throughout  Germany  emulation  is  excited  by 
the  desire  and  the  hope  of  uniting  experimental  and 
speculative  philosophy,  and  thus  enlarging  our  know- 
ledge of  man  and  of  nature. 

Intellectual  idealism  makes  the  will  (which  is  the 
soui)  the  centre  of  every  thing  :  the  principle  of  ideal- 
ism in  physical  sciences  is  life.  Man  reaches  the 
highest  degree  of  analysis  by  chemistry  as  he  does  by 
reasoning  ;  but  life  escapes  him  in  chemistry,  as  sentU 
vient  does  in  reasoning.  A  French  writer  had  pretend- 
ed, that  "  thought  was  only  the  myterial  product  of 

the  brain  — -another  learned  man  has  said,  that  when 
we  are  more  advanced  hi  chemistry,  we  shall  be  able 
to  tell  "  how  life  is  made  — the  one  outraged  nature, 
as  the  other  outraged  the  soul. 

"  We  must,*'  said  Fichte,  "  compreliend  what  is  in- 
"  comprehensible,  as  such.'^  This  singular  expres- 
sion contains  a  profound  meanuig  :  we  must  feel  and 
recognise  what  will  ever  remain  inaccessible  to  anaiy- 
bis,  and  what  the  soaring  flight  ef  thoiiglit  alone  can 
approaoh. 


INFLUEXCE  OF  THE  NEW  PtIlLOSOPHY.  197 


Three  distinct  modes  of  existence  are  thought  to 
have  been  discovered  in  nature — veg-etation,  ii  ritabiii'^ 
ty,  and  sensibility.  P:ants,  animals,  and  men  are  m- 
eluded  in  these  three  sorts  of  life  ;  and  if  we  choose  to 
apply  even  to  individuals  of  our  own  species  this  in- 
genious division,  we  shall  find  it  equally  discernible 
among  their  different  characters.  Some  vegetate  like 
plants  ;  others  enjoy  themelves,  or  are  irriiatcd  like 
animals;  and  the  more  noble,  in  a  word,  possess  and 
display  the  qualities  that  distinguish  our  human  nature. 
However  this  may  be,  volition,  which  is  life,  and  life, 
which  also  is  volition,  comprehend  all  the  secret  of  the 
universe  and  of  ourselves  ;  and  at  this  secret  (as  we 
can  neither  deny  nor  explain  it)  wc  must  necessarily, 
arrive  by  a  kind  of  divination 

What  an  exertion  of  strength  would  it  not  require 
to  overturn,  with  a  lever  made  upon  the  model  of  the 
arm,  the  weight  which  the  arm  uplifis  1  D  )  we  not  see 
every  day  anger,  or  some  otiier  affection  of  the  soul, 
augmenting,  as  by  a  miracle,  the  pov^'er  of  the  human 
bociy  ?  What  then  is  this  mysterious  power  of  nature 
which  manifests  itself  by  the  will  of  man  ?  and  how, 
without  studying  its  cause  and  enccts,  can  we  make 
any  important  discovery  in  the  theory  of  physical  pow- 
ers ? 

The  doctrine  of  the  Scotch  writer,  Brown,  more 
profoundly  analysed  in  Germany  than  elsewhere,  is 
founded  upon  this  same  system  of  central  a«-tion  and 
uni'y,  which  is  so  iruilfui  in  its  consequences.  Brown 
believed  that  a  state  of  suffering,  or  of  health,  did  not 
depend  upon  partial  evils,  but  upon  the  intenseness  of 
the  vital  principle,  which  is  lowered  or  exalted  accord- 
ing to  the  different  vicissitudes  of  existence. 

Among  the  learned  English  there  is  hardiy  one,  be- 
sides Hartley  and  his  disciple  Priestley,  v/ho  lias  con- 
sidered metaphysics,  as  well  as  physics,  under  a  poiiit, 
of  view  entirely  maieiial.  It  will  be  said  tnat  physica 
can  only  be  material:  I  presume  not  to  be  of  that 
opinion.  Those  who  make  the  soul  itself  a  passive 
being,  have  the  strongest  reason  to  exclude  every 
spontaneous  action  of  the  will  of  man  from  the  posi- 

YCL.  II.  R  3 


1 

r 


198  Pim^OSOPHY  AND  MORALS.  \ 

live  sciences;  and  yet  there  are  inany  circiim stance Sf  | 
in  which  this  power  of  willing  influences  the  energ-y  of  I 
life,  and  in  which  life  acts  upon  matter.  The  princi- 
ple of  existence  is,  as  it  were,  intermediary  between 
physics  and  morals  ;  and  its  power  cannot  be  calcula- 
ted, but  yet  cannot  be  denied,  unless  we  are  ignorant 
of  what  constitutes  animated  nature,  and  reduce  its 
laws  purely  to  mechanism. 

Whatever  opinion  we  may  form  of  the  system  of 
Dr.  Gall,  he  is  respected  by  all  men  of  science  for  his 
anatomical  studies  and  discoveries  :  and  if  we  consider 
the  organs  of  thought  as  different  from  thought  itself; 
that  is  to  say,  as  the  faculties  which  it  employs,  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  we  may  admit  memory  and  the  power 
of  calculation,  the  aptitude  for  this  or  that  science,  tho 
talent  for  any  particular  art,  every  thing,  in  short, 
■which  serves  the  understanding  like  an  instrument,  to 
depend  in  some  measure  on  the  structure  of  the  brain. 
If  there  exists  a  graduated  scale  from  a  stone  upwards 
to  the  life  of  man,  there  must  be  certain  faculties  in 
us  which  partake  of  soul  and  body  at  once,  and  of  this 
number  are  memory  and  the  calculating  power,  the 
most  physical  of  our  intellectual,  and  the  most  intel- 
lectual of  our  physical  faculties.  But  we  should  begin 
to  err  at  the  moment  that  we  attributed  an  influence 
over  our  moral  qualities  to  the  structure  of  the  brain  ;  ; 
for  the  will  is  absolutely  independent  of  our  physical  ^ 
faculties:  k  is  in  the  purely  intellectual  action  of  this 
will  that  conscience  consists  ;  and  conscience  is,  and 
ought  to  be,  free  from  the  influence  of  corporeal  or- 
ganization. 

A  young  physician  of  great  ability,  KorefT,  has  al- 
ready attracted  the  attention  of  those  who  understand-  . 
him,  by  some  entirely  new  observations  upon  the  prin-  | 
ciple  of  life  ;  upon  the  action  of  death ;  upon  the  cau  = 
ses  of  insanity.    All  this  restlessness  among  the  men 
of  genius  announces  some  revolution  in  the  very  man- 
ner of  studying  the  sciences.    It  is  impossible,  as  yet^ 
to  foresee  the  results  of  this  change  ;  but  we  may  af- 
iirm  with  truth,  that,  if  the  Germans  suffer  imagina-  | 
lim  to  guide  themj  they  spare  themselves  no  labour,  I 


mFLUENCE  OF  THE  NEW  PHrLOSOPHY.  19tf 


no  research,  no  study  ;  and  that  they  unite,  in  the  high- 
est  degree,  two  qualities  which  seem  to  exclude  each 
©ther— patience  and  enthusiasm. 

Some  learned  Germans,  pushingtheir  physical  ideal- 
ism too  far,  contest  the  truth  of  the  axiom,  that  there 
is  no  action  at  a  distance^  and  wish,  on  the  contrary, 
to  re-establish  spontaneous  motion  throughout  nature. 
They  reject  the  hypothesis  of  fluids,  the  effects  of 
which  would,  in  some  points,  depend  upon  mechanic 
forces ;  pressing  and  re-pressing  each  other  without 
the  guidance  of  any  independent  organization. 

Those  who  consider  nature  in  the  light  of  an  intel- 
kctual  beings  do  not  attach  to  this  denomination  the 
same  sense  which  custom  has  authorized.  For  the 
thought  of  man  consists  in  the  faculty  of  turning  hack 
upon  itself;  and  the  intelligence  of  nature  advances 
straightforward,  like  the  instinct  of  animals.  Thought 
has  self-possession,  for  it  can  judge  itself ; — intelli- 
gence without  reflection  is  a  power  always  attracted  to 
things  without.  When  nature  performs  the  work  of 
erystallization  according  to  the  most  regular  forms,  ie 
does  not  follow  that  she  understands  the  mathematics; 
or,  at  all  events,  she  is  ignorant  of  her  own  knowledge, 
and  wants  self-consciousness.  The  German  men  of 
science  attribute  a  certain  individual  originality  to  phy- 
sical forces  ;  and,  on  the  other  side,  they  appear  to 
admit  (from  their  manner  of  exhibiting  some  phsenom- 
ena  of  animal  magnetism,)  that  the  will  of  man  with- 
out any  external  act,  exerts  a  very  great  influence  over 
matter,  and  especially  over  metals. 

Pascal  says,  "  that  astrologers  and  alchemists  have 
"  some  principles,  but  that  they  abuse  them.'*  There 
were,  perhaps,  of  ©Id,  more  intimate  relations  between 
man  and  nature  than  now  exist.  The  mysteries  of 
Eleusis  ;  the  religion  of  the  Egyptians  ;  the  system 
of  emanations  among  the  Indians ;  the  Persian  adora- 
tion of  the  elements  and  the  sun ;  the  harmony  of 
numbers,  which  was  the  basis  of  the  Pythagoreaa 
doctrine — are  vestiges  of  some  curious  attraction 
which  united  man  v.'ith  the  universe. 

The  doctrines  of  spirituality,  by  fortifying  the  pow- 


20§ 


PHILOS0PHY  AND  ?viOIlALg. 


er  of  reflection,  have  separated  man  more  from  pbysi* 
cal  infiaences  ;  and  the  Reformation,  by  carrying  still 
iar.ther  his  tendency  towards  analysis,  has  put  reason 
on  its  jj^uard  against  the  primary  im.pressions  of  the 
imagination.  The  Germans  promote  the  true  perfec« 
tion  of  the  human  mind,  when  they  endeavour  to 
awaken  the  inspirations  of  nature  by  the  light  of  thought. 

Experience  every  day  leads  the  learned  to  recognise 
phsenomena,  which  men  had  ceased  to  believe,  because 
they  were  mingled  with  superstitions,  and  had  been  the 
subjects  of  presages.  The  ancients  have  related  that 
stones  fell  from  h.eaven  ;  and  in  our  days  the  accuracy 
of  this  fact,  the  existence  of  which  had  been  denied,  is 
established.  The  ancients  have  spoken  of  showers 
red  as  blood,  and  of  eartk-lightnings — we  have  lately 
been  convinced  of  the  truth  of  their  assertions  in  these 
respects. 

Astronomy  and  music  are  the  science  and  art  which 
men  have  known  from  all  antiquity  :  why  should  not 
sounds  and  the  stars  be  connected  by  relations  which 
the  ancients  perceived,  and  which  we  may  find  out 
again  r  Pythagoras  maintained  that  the  planets  were 
proportionably  at  the  same  distance  as  the  seven  chords 
of  the  lyre  ;  and  it  is  affirmed,  that  he  predicted  the 
Dew  planet  which  has  been  discovered  between  Mars 
and  Jupiter.*  It  appears  that  he  was  not  ignorant  of 
the  true  system  of  the  heavens,  the  fixedness  of  the 
sun  ;  sin::e  Copernicus  supports  him.self  in  this  in- 
stance upon  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras,  as  recorded  by 
Cicero.  From  whenc'e  tiien  arose  these  astonishing 
discoveries,  without  the  aid  of  experience,  and  of  the 
new  machines  of  which  the  moderns  are  in  posses- 
sion ?  The  reason  is  this — -the  ancients  advanced  bold- 
ly, lit  by  the  sun  of  genius.  They  made  use  of  reason,, 
the  resting-place  of  human  intellect;  but  they  also 
consulted  imagination,  the  priestess  of  nature. 

Those  which  we  call  errors  and  superstitions  may? 
perhaps,  depend  upon  laws  of  the  universe,  yet  un- 

*  M.  Prevost,  Professor  of  Philosophy  at  Geneva,  has  pub- 
lished a  veiy  interesting  panniphlet  on  this  subject. — This  phi- 
losophical writer  is  as  well  ]iuo',YU  in.  Eujopc  ^  est^vmijd  in  his 
coivntry. 


IXFLUEXCS  OF  THE  ^'EW  PHILOSOPHY.  20^ 


known  to  man.    The  relations  between  the  planets 
and  metais,  the  influence  of  these  relations,  even  ora- 
;  -5  and  presages — may  they  not  bs  caused  by  occiilt 
I  -,vers,  of  which  we  have  no  idea  ?  And  who  knows 
Wii ether  there  is  not  a  germ  of  truth  hidden  under 
every  apologue,  under  every  mode  of  belief,  vvhich  has 
been  stigmatized  with  the  name      •  . :  liess  ?  It  assur- 
edly does  not  follow  that  v/e  s  .z  u.:.  i  enounce  the  ex- 
perimental method,  so  necessary  in  the  sciences.  But 
,  w^.y  not  furnish  a  supreme  director  for  this  method  in 
.  a  philosophy  more  comprehensive    which  would  em- 
brace   tne    universe  in  its  c^.Uecti-ve  character^  and 
wiiich  would  noi  despise  the  nccturTial  side  of  nature^ 
-  in  the  expectation  of  being  able  to  throw  light  upon 
!  it  ?  It  is  the  business  of  poetry  f  we  may  be  answered) 
to  consider  the  piiysical  world  in  this  manner  ;  but  we 
ean  arrive  at  no  certain  knou  ledge  except  by  experi- 
j  ence  ;  and  all  that  is  not  susceptible  of  proof  may  be 
an  amusement  to  the  mind,  but  cannot  forward  our 
real  progress. 

Doubtless,  the  French  are  right  in  recommendii  g 
the  Gernians  to  have  a  respect  for  experience  ;  but  they 
are  wrong  in  turning  into  ridicule  the  presages  of  re- 
flection, which  perhaps  will  hereafterbeconfirraed  by  the 
knowledge  of  facts.  Tne  greater  part  cf  grand  discover- 
ies have  at  first  appeared  absurd  ;  and  the  man  of  genius 
will  never  do  any  thing  if  he  dreads  being  exposed  to 
ridicule. — Ridicule  is  nerveless  vhen  despised,  and 
ascends  in  mfluence  just  as  it  is  feared.  We  see  in 
fairy  tales  phantoms  that  oppose  the  enterprises  of 
krhghts,  and  harrass  them  until  they  have  be- 
yond the  weird  dominion.  Then  all  the  v  .:. 
banishes,  and  the  fiuitfui  open  country  is  spread  be- 
fore their  sight.  Envy  and  mediocrity  have  also  their 
sorceries  ;  but  we  ought  to  march  on  towards  the  truth, 
without  caring  for  the  seeming  obstacles  that  impede 
our  progress. 

^Vhen  Keppler  had  discovered  the  harmonic  lavv's 
that  reguiaie  the  m.otion  of  the  heavenly  bodies, it  was 
thus  that  he  expressed  his  joy : — At  length,  after 
the  lapse  of  eigiiteen  months,  the  Srst  dawn  of  light 


202 


PHJLOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


^  has  shone  upon  me  ;  and  on  this  remarkable  day  I 

have  perceived  the  pure  irradiation  of  sublime  truth. 

Noticing  now  represses  me  :  I  dare  yield  myself  up 
"  to  my  holy  ardour  ;  I  dare  insult  manldnd  by  acknow- 
"  ledging,  that  I  have  turned  v/orldly  science  to  ad» 
"  vantage  ;  that  I  have  robbed  the  vessels  of  Egypt, 
"  to  erect  a  temple  to  the  living  God.  If  I  am  par- 
"  doned,  I  shall  rejoice  ;  if  blamed,  I  shall  endure  it. 
"  The  die  is  cast  ;  I  have  written  this  book  :-*-whethf 
"  er  it  be  read  by  posterity,  or  by  my  contemporaries,  is 
"  of  no  consequence  :  it  niay  well  wait  for  a  reader  dur-^ 

ing  one  century,  when  God  himself,  during  six  thou- 
"  sand  years,  has  waited  for  an  observer  like  myself.'* 
This  bold  ebuiition  of  a  proud  enthusiasm  exhibits  the 
internal  force  of  genius. 

Goethe  has  made  a  remark  upon  the  perfectibility  of 
the  human  understanding,  which  is  fiili  of  sagacity— 
"  It  is  always  advancing,  but  in  a  spiral  line." — This 
comparison  is  so  much  the  more  just^  because  the  im- 
provement of  man  seems  to  be  checked  at  m^any  seras, 
and  then  returns  upon  its  own  steps  having  gained 
some  degrees  in  advance.  There  are  seasons  when 
scepticism  is  necessary  to  the  progress  of  the  scien- 
ces;  there  are  others  when  according  to  Hemsterhuis, 
the  marvellous  spirit  ought  to  supersede  the  mathemati- 
caL  When  man  is  swallowed  up,  or  rather  reduced 
into  dust  by  infidelity,  this  marvellous  spirit  can  alone 
restore  the  power  of  admiration  to  the  soul,  without 
"which  we  cannot  understand  nature. 

The  theory  of  the  sciences  in  Germany  has  giveiij 
the  men  of  genius  an  impulse  like  that  which  meta-^ 
phycics  had  excited  in  the  study  of  the  mind  ;  and  life 
holds  the  same  rank  in  physical  phenomena,  that  the 
will  holds  in  moral  order.    If  the  relations  between 
these  two  systems  have  caused  certain  persons  to  in 
terdict  them  both,  there  are  those  who  will  discove 
in  these  relations  the  double  guarantee  of  the  sam 
truth.    It  is  at  least  certain,  tiiat  the  interest  of  the 
sciences  is  singularly  increased  by  tliis  manner  of  re 
ferrhig  them  all  to  some  leading  ideas.    Poets  migh 
find  in  the  sciences  a  crowd  of  useful  thoughts,  if  th 
_scleiices  held  communication  with  each  other  in  the 


IKFLL'SNCE  0?  THE  NEW  PHZLOSOPHY,  203 


philosophy  of  the  universe  ;  ar.d  if  this  philosophy,  in- 
-stead  of  being  abstract,  ^Tas  animated  by  the  inexhaus- 
tible source  of  sentiment.  The  universe  resembles  a 
poem  more  than  a  machine  ;  and  if,  in  order  to  form 
a  conception  of  the  universe,  we  were  compelled  to 
avail  ourselves  of  im. agination,  or  of  a  mathematical 
spirit,  imagination  would  lead  us  nearer  to  the  truth. 
But  again  let  me  repeat,  we  must  not  make  such  a 
[  choice;  since  it  is  the  totality  of  our  m.cral  being 
T.liich  ought  to  be  employed  in  so  im.portant  a  Idnd  of 
meditation. 

The  nevv"  system  of  general  physics,  which  in  Ger- 
j  many  serves  for  a  guide  to  experimental  physics,  can 
j  only  be  judged  by  its  results.    We  must  see  whether 
\  it  will  conduct  the  human  mind  to  new-established 
truths.    Bat  it  is  impossible  to  deny  the ' connexion 
which  it  proves  to  exist  between  the  different  branches 
of  study-    One  student  usually  revolts  from  the  other 
when  their  occupations  are  different,  because  they  are 
j  a  reciprocal  annoyance.    The  scholar  has  nothing  to 
f  say  to  the  poet ;  the  poet  to  the  natural  philosopher: 
■  and  even  among  the  m^en  of  science,  those  who  are 
;  differenth'  occupied  avoid  each  other;  taking  no  in- 
(  terest  in  what  is  out  of  their  own  circle.    This  cannot 
j  be  when  a  central  philosophy  establishes  connexions  of 
1  .a  sublime  nature  between  all  our  thougiits.    The  sci- 
1  entinc  penetrate  nature  by  the  aid  ot  imagination.  Po- 
j  ets  find  in  the  sciences'the  genuine  beauties  of  the  uni- 
i  verse.    The  learned  enrich  poetry  with  the  stores  of 
I  recollection,  and  the  men  of  science  with  those  of 
analogy. 

The  sciences,  represented  as  insulated,  and  as  a 
land  unknown  to  the  soul,  attract  not  the  exalted  mind. 
;  The  greater  part  of  those  who  have  devoted  themselves 
to  the  sciences  (with  some  honourable  exceptions) 
I:  have  imprinted  upon  our  times  that  tendency  towards 
calculation  which  so  well  teaches  us,  in  all  changes, 
which  is  the  strongest  government.    The  German  phi- 
I  losophy  mtroduces- the  physical  sciences  into  that  uai- 
I  versa!  sphere  of  ideas,  which  imparts  so  m.uch  inter- 
'I  £st  to  the  most  minute  observations,  as  well  as  to  the- 
A  most  Importaut  results. 


■i 
1 


204  2»HIL0SaPHY  AND  MORALS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Injiuence  of  the  new  Philosophy  ufion  the  Character 
of  the  Germans, 


It  would  appear  that  a  system  of  philosophy,  which  | 
attributes  an  ail-powerful  action  to  that  which  depends 
upon  ourselves,  iiameiy,  ro  cur  will,  ought  to  strength- 
en the  character,  and  to  make  it  independent  of  ex- 
ternal circumstances ;  but  there  is  reason  to  believe,, 
that  political  and  religious  institutions  alone  can  create  I 
public  spirit,  and  that  no  abstract  tneory  is  efficacious 
enough  to  give  a  nation  energy  :  for,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, the  Germans  of  our  days  have  not  that  which 
can  be  called  character.  They  are  virtuous,  upright, 
as  private  men,  as  fathers  of  families,  as  managers  of 
affairs  :  but  theii'  gracious  and  cot;. plaisant  forwardness 
to  support  thd  cause  of  power  gives  especial  pain  to 
those  who  love  them,  and  who  believe  tliem  to  be  the 
n^iost  enlightened  speculative  defenders  of  the  dignity 
of  man. 

The  sagacity  of  the  philosophical  spirit  alone  has 
taught  them  in  ali  circumstances  tJ;e  cause  and  the 
effv.^cts  of  what  happens  ;  and  ihey  fancy,  when  they 
have  found  a  theory  tor  a  fact,  that  it  is  all  right.  Mih- 
tary  spir  tand  patriotism  have  exalted  many  nations  to 
the  higl^est  possible  degree  of  energy;  but  these  two 
sources  of  seil-devotion  hardly  exist  among  the  Ger- 
mans, taken  in  a  mass.  They  scarcely  know  any  thing 
of  nulitary  ispirit,  but  a  pedantic  sort  of  tactics,  which 
saiiCtions  their  being  defeated  according  to  the  rules  j 
arid  as  little  of  liberty,  beyond  that  subdivision  into 
petty  kingdoms,  which,  by  accustoming  the  inhabitants 
to  consider  themselves  weak  as  a  nation,  soon  leads 
them  to  be  weak  as  individuals.  Respect  for  forms  is 
very  favourable  to  the  support  of  law  ;  but  this  re- 
spect; such  as  it  exists  in  Germany,  induces  the  habit 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE  NEW  PHILOSOPHY.  205 


of  such  punctual  and  precise  proceedings,  that  they 
hardly  know  how  to  open  a  new  path  to  reach  an  ob- 
ject though  it  be  straight  before  them. 

Philosophical  speculations  are  only  suited  to  a 
T,iTian  number  of  thinking  men  ;  and  far  from  serving 
to  combine  the  strength  of  a  nation,  they  only  placo 
\he  ignorant  and  the  enlightened  at  too  great  a  distance 
from  each  other.  There  are  too  many  new,  and  not 
enougli  common,  ideas  circulating  in  Germany,  for 
the  knowledge  of  men  and  things  Common  ideas 
are  necessary  for  the  conduct  of  life  ;  business  re- 
quires the  spirit  of  execution  rather  than  that  of  in- 
vention :  whatever  is  odd  in  the  different  modes  of 
thinking  in  Germany,  tends  to  separate  them  from 
each  other ;  for  the  thoughts  and  interests  which  unite 
men  together  must  be  of  a  simple  nature,  and  of 
striking  truth. 

Contempt  of  danger,  of  suffering',  and  of  death,  is 
not  sufficiently  universal  in  all  the  classes  of  the  Ger- 
man nation.  Doubtless,  life  has  more  value  for  men 
capable  of  sentiments  and  ideas,  than  for  those  v/ho 
leave  behind  them  neither  trace  nor  remembrance  ;  but, 
at  the  same  time  that  poetical  enthusiasm  gathers  fresh 
vigour  from  the  highest  degree  of  learning,  rational 
courage  ought  to  fill  the  place  of  the  instinct  of  igno- 
rance. It  belongs  alone  to  philosophy,  founded  upon 
[  religion,  to  inspire  an  unalterable  resolution  under  all 
1  conlingencies. 

If,  however,  philosophy  has  not  appeared  to  be  all  - 
poweriui  in  this  respect  in  Germany;  we  must  not: 
I   therefore  despise  her: — she  supports,  she  enlightens 
every  man,  individually  ;  but  a  government  alone  can 
excite  that  moral  electricity  which  makes  the  whole- 
nation  feel  the  same  sentiment.    We  are  more  offend- 
ed with  the  Germans  when  we  see  them  deficient  in 
energy,  than  with  the  Italians,  whose  political  situa* 
lion  has  enfeebled  their  character  for  several  centu  - 
ries.   The  Italians,  through  the  whole  of  life,  by  their 
I   grace  and  their  imagination,  preserve  a  sort  of  pro- 
!  longed  right  to  childhood;  but  the  rude  physiogomy 
-j  and  manners  of  the  Germans  appear  to  promise  a  man- 

I        VOL.  II.  S 


206 


FlilLOSOPlIY  AND  MORALS. 


ly  soul,  and  we  are  disagreeably  surprised  not  to  find 
it.  In  a  word,  timidity  of  cliaracter  is  pardoned 
wher/it  is  confessed  ;  and  in  this  way  the  Italians  have 
a  peculiar  frankness,  which  excites  a  kind  of  interest 
in  their  favour  ;  while  the  Germans,  not  daring  to 
avov/  that  weakness  which  suits  so  ill  with  them,  are 
energetic  flatterers  and  vigorous  slaves.  They  give  a 
harsh  accent  to  their  words  to  hide  the  suppleness  of 
their  opinions ;  and  they  make  use  of  philosophical 
reasonings  to  explain  that  which  is  the  most  unphilo- 
sophical  thing  in  the  world — respect  for  power,  and 
the  effeminacy  of  fear,  which  turns  that  respect  into 
admiration. 

To  such  contrasts  as  these  we  must  attribute  that 
German  gracelessness  which  it  is  the  fashion  to  mimic 
in  the  comedies  of  all  covntries.  It  is  allowable  to 
be  heavy  and  stiff,  while  we  remain  severe  and  firm  ; 
but,  if  this  natural  stiffness  be  clothed  with  the  false 
smile  of  servility,  then  all  that  remains  is  to  be  expo- 
sed to  merited  ridicule.  In  short,  there  is  a  certain 
•want  of  address  in  the  German  character,  prejudicial 
even  to  those  who  have  the  selfish  intent  of  sacrificing 
every  thing  to  their  interest  ;  and  we  are  so  much  the 
more  provoked  with  them,  because  they  lose  the  hon- 
ours of  virtue,  without  attaining  the  profits  of  adroit 
management. 

While  we  confess  the  German  philosophy  to  be 
inadequate  to  form  a  nation,  we  must  also  acknow- 
ledge that  the  disciples  of  the  new  school  are  much 
nearer  than  any  of  the  others  to  the  attainment  of 
strength  of  character  :  they  dream  of  it,  they  desire 
it,  ihey  conceive  it ;  but  they  often  fail  m  the  pursuit. 
There  are  few  Geru:,ans  who  can  even  write  upon 
politics.  The  greater  portion  of  those  who  m.eddle 
with  this  subject  are  systematic,  and  frequently  unin- 
teliiLibie.  When  we  aie  busi*  d  with  the  transcenden- 
tal iiittaphysics' — when  we  atttn.pt  to  plunge  into  the 
darkness  of  nature^  any  view,  however  indt finite  it 
may  be,  is  not  to  be  despised  ;  every  preseiitiment 
may  guide  us  ;  every  appioach  to  the  niark  is  some- 
thing'   -S-t  isnot  tluis  wi.ih  the  affairs  of  the  world;  it 


IXPLLTIXCE  OF  THE"  XEV/  PIIILOSOPKY.    20 T 


■  possible  to  know  them;  it  is  necess-iry.  : .  rf:.:'e, 
foresee  them  clearly.  Obscurit?  of  style,  .v  .ewwe 
:i  eat  of  thoughts  without  b  ounds,  is  sometimes  the 
verv  IndicatioD  of  a  comprehensive  understanding ; 
but  obscurity,  in  our  analysis  of  the  affairs  of  life, 
only  proves  that  we  do  not  comprehend  them. 

When  we  introduce  metaphysics  int  <  business,  they 
confound,  for  the  sake  of  excusinij  every  thing  ;  and 
ire  thus  provide  a  dark  fog  for  the  asylum  of  con- 
science.— This  employment  of  metaphysics  would  re- 
quire address,  if  every  thing  was  not  reduced  in  our 
'mesto  two  very  simple  and  clear  ideas,  interest  or 
i:y.  Men  of  enerp:y,  whichever  of  these  two  di-ec- 
tioiis  thev  follow,  right  onward  to  the  mark,  with- 
out embracing  theories  which  no  longer  deceive  nor- 
persuade  any  body. 

See  then,'*  it  may  be  said,  you  are  reduced  to 
"  extol,  like  us,  the  names  of  experience  and  obser- 
"  vation.'*' — I  have  never  denied  that  both  were  necea- 
saiy  for  those  who  meddle  with  the  interests  of  this 
worid  ;  but  his  in  the  conscience  of  man  th?vt  we  ought 
to  find  the  ideal  principle  of  a  conduct  externally  di- 
rected by  sage  calculations.  Divine  sentiments  are 
subject  here  below  to  earthly  things  ;  it  is  the  condi- 
tion of  oar  existence.  The  beautiful  is  within  our 
souls,  and  the  struggle  is  without.  We  must  5ght 
for  the  cause  of  eternity,  but  with  the  weapons  of 
time  ;  no  individual  can  attain  the  whole  dignity  of  the 
huiuan  character,  eitlier  by  speculative  philosophy,  or 
by  the  knowledge  of  anaivs,  exclusively;  and  free  in- 
siicutions  alone  have  the  advantage  of  building  up  a 
system  of  public  morals  in  a  nation,  and  of  giving 
^  exalted  sentiments  an  opportunity  of  displaying  them- 
selves in  the  practical  conduct  of  life. 


208. 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  IMOFtALS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
Of  the  fnoral  Sy6'te?n,  founded  ufion  personal  IntereSi.;. 


i  HE  French  writers  have  been  perfectly  right  iu 
consitlering  morality  founded  upon  interest,  as  the 
consequence  of  that  metaphysical  system  which  attri- 
buted all  our  ideas  to  our  sensations.  If  there  is 
nothing  in  the  soul  but  what  sensation  has  introduced, 
the  agreeable  or  the  disagreeable,  ought  to  be  the  sole 
motive  of  our  volitions.  Helvetius,  Didelot,  Saint- 
Lambert,  have  not  deviated  from  this  direction  ;  and 
they  have  explained  all  actions  including  the  devotion 
of  martyrs)  by  self-love.  The  English,  who  for  the 
most  part  profess  the  experimental  philosophy  in  met- 
aphysics, have  yet  never  brought  themselves  to  sup- 
port a  moral  system  founded  upon  interest.  Shaftes- 
bury, Hutcheson,  Smith,  Sec  have  declared  the  mor- 
al sense  and  sympathy  to  be  the  source  of  all  virtue. 
Hume  himself,  the  most  sceptical  of  the  English  phi- 
losophers, could  not  read  without  disgust  this  theory 
of  seif'love,  which  deformed  the  beauty  of  the  soul. 
Nothing  is  more  opposite  than  this  system  to  the  whole- 
cf  their  opinions  in  Germany  :  their  philosophical  and 
^oral  v/riters,  in  consequence  (at  the  head  of  whom 
we  must  palace  Kant,  Fichte,  and  Jacobi,)  have  com- 
bated it  with  success. 

As  the  tendency  of  man  towards  happiness  is  the 
-Piost  universal  and  active  of  all  his  inclinations,  some 
have  believed  that  they  buiit  morality  on  the  most  solid 
basis,  when  they  said  it  consisted  in  the  j-ight  under- 
standing of  our  personal  interest.  This  idea  has  mis- 
led nien  of  integrity,  and  others  have  purposely  abus- 
ed it,  and  have  only  too  well  succeeded  in  that  abuse. 
Doubtless,  the  general  laws  of  nature  and  society 
make  happiness  and  virtue  harm.onize ;  but  their  laws 
are  subject  to  very  numerous  exceptions,  and  which 
appear  to  be  more  numerous  than  they  really  are. 


OF  THE  MORAL  SYSTEM,  &c. 


209 


By  making  happiness  consist  in  a  quiet  conscience, 
we  eiucle  the  arguments  drawn  from  the  prosperity  of 
vice  and  the  misfortunes  of  virtue  ;  but  this  inward 
joy,  which  is  entirely  of  a  religious  kind,  has  no  rela- 
tion to  that  which  we  designate  upon  earth  by  the  name 
of  happiness.  To  call  self-devotion  or  selfishness, 
guilt  or  innocence,  our  personal  interest,  well  or  ill 
understood,  is  to  aim  at  filling  up  that  abyss  which 
separates  the  criminal  from  the  virtuous;  is  to  destroy 
respect  ;  is  to  weaken  indignation  :  for  if  morality  is 
nothing  but  right  calculation,  he  who  v/ants  it  can  only 
be  accused  of  a  flaw  in  his  understanding.  It  is  im- 
possible to  feel  the  noble  sentiment  of  esteem  for  any 
one  because  he  is  an  accurate  accountant ;  nor  an  en- 
ergetic contempt  for  him  who  errs  in  his  arithmetic. 
Men  have  arrived,  therefore,  by  means  of  this  system., 
at  the  principal  end  of  all  the  profligate,  who  wish  to 
put  justice  and  injustice  upon  a  level,  or  at  least,  to 
consider  both  as  a  game  well  or  ill  played  : — the  phi- 
losophers of  this  school,  accordingly,  more  frequently 
use  the  word  Fault  than  Crime  ;  for,  in  their  mode  of 
thinking,  there  is  nothing  in  the  conduct  of  life  but 
skilful  or  unskilful  combinations. 

We  can  form  no  better  conception  how  remorse  can 
be  admitted  into  such  a  system  :-— the  criminal,  when 
he  is  punished,  ought  to  feel  that  sort  of  regret  which 
is  occasioned  by  the  failure  of  a  speculation;  for  if 
our  individual  happiness  is  our  principal  object,  if  we 
are  the  only  end  ©f  ourselves,  peace  must  soon  be  re- 
stored between  these  two  near  allies— he  who  has  done 
v/rong,  and  he  who  suffers  from  it.  It  is  a  proverb 
almost  universally  admitted,  that  every  one  is  free  in 
all  that  concerns  himself  alone  :  now,  as  in  the  mo- 
ral system  founded  upon  interest,  self  is  the  only 
question,  I  know  not  what  answer  could  be  returned 
to  such  a  speech  as  the  following  "  You  give  me,  as 
"  the  motive  for  my  actions,  my  own  individual  benefit— 
"  I  am  much  obliged  :  but  the  manner  of  conceiving 
«  what  this  benefit  is,  necessarily  depends  upon  the 
"  variety  of  character.  I  am  courageous  ;  I  can  there= 
fore  risk  the  dangers  attached  to  an  infraction  of  the 
V0L.  S  2 


^10 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  ^lORALS. 


"  laws  better  than  another  :  I  am  ingenious  ;  there- 
^'  fore  I  trust  to  more  means  of  escaping  punishment : 
"  — lastly,  if  it  turns  out  ill,  I  have  sufficient  fortitude 
to  endure  the  consequences  of  having  deceived  my- 
"  self ;  and  I  prefer  the  pleasures  and  the  chances  of 
"  high  play  to  the  monotony  of  a  regular  existence." 

How  many  French  works,  in  the  last  age,  have  com- 
mented upon  these  arguments,  which  cannot  be  com- 
pletely refuted;  for,  in  a  miatter  of  chance,  one  out  of 
a  thousand  is  sufficient  to  rouse  the  imagination  to 
every  effort  for  obtaining  it  ;  and,  certainly,  the  odds 
are  not  a  thousand  to  one  against  the  success  of  vice. 
"  But''  (many  of  the  honest  partisans  of  the  moral  sys- 
tem founded  upon  interest  will  say)  "  this  morality 
^'  does  not  exclude  the  influence  of  religion  over  the 
'5  soul/'  How  weak  and  melancholy  a  part  is  left  for 
it !  When  all  the  acknov/ledged  philosophical  and  mor- 
al systems  are  contrary  to  religion — when  metaphys- 
ics annihilate  the  belief  of  what  is  invisible,  and  morals 
the  sacrifice  of  ourseh'es,  religion  ren>ains,  in  our 
ideas,  as  the  King  remamed  in  that  constitution  which 
ivas  decreed  by  the  Constituent  Assembly  ;  it  was  a 
Republic,  with  a  King  ;  and  I  say  the  same  of  all  these 
systems  of  metaphysical  materialism  and  selfish  mo- 
yality — they  are  Atheism,  with  a  God.  It  if  easy,  then, 
to  foresee  what  will  be  sacrificed  in  the  construction  of 
our  thoughts,  when  we  only  assign  a  superfluous  place 
to  the  central  idea  vf  the  world  and  of  ourselves. 

The  conduct  of  man  is  not  tiuly  moral  excepting 
when  he  esteems  as  nothing  the  happy  or  unhappy 
consequences  of  those  actions  which  his  duty  has  en- 
joined him. — h>  directing  the  afiairs  of  the  world,  we 
must  always  keep  in  our  minds  the  connexion  of  caus- 
es and  effects,  of  the  nieans  and  the  end  ;  but  this 
prudence  is  to  virtue  what  good  sense  is  to  genius  : — 
all  ihat  is  truly  beautiiul  is  inspired;  all  that  is  disin- 
terested is  religious.  Calculaiion  is  the  labourer  of 
genius,  the  servant  of  the  boul ;  but  if  it  becomes  the 
master,  there  is  no  longer  any  tiling  grand  or  noble  in 
maii.  Caicuiation,  in  the  conciucl  of  life,  ought  al- 
^vays  to  be  admittca  as  the  guide;  but  never  as  the  mo- 


OF  THE  MORAL  SYSTEM,  kc 


tive  cf  our  actions.  It  is  a  good  instrument  of  execu- 
tion ;  bur  the  source  of  the  wiil  ou^ht  to  be  of  a  more 
elevated  nature,  and  to  contain  in  itself  an  internal 
sentiment  which  compels  us  to  the  sacrifice  of  our 
personal  interests. 

"When  an  attempt  was  made  to  prevent  St.  Vincent 
de  Paul  from  exposing  himseif  to  too  great  danger,  in 
order  to  succour  the  unfortunate,  he  replied,  "  Do  you. 
"  think  me  so  base  as  to  prefer  my  life  to  myself?" — 
If  the  adTOcates  of  the  moral  system  founded  upon 
interest  would  retrench  from  this  interest  all  that  con- 
cevns  earthly  existence,  they  would  then  agree  with 
the  most  religious  men  ;  but  still  we  might  reproach 
them  with  the  faulty  expressions  in  which  they  convey 
their  meaning. 

"  In  fact,"  it  may  be  said,  "  this  is  only  a  dispute 
"  about  words  ;  we  call  useful  what  you  call  virtuous, 
"  but  7ye  also  place  the  well-understood  interest  of  men 

in  the  sacrifice  of  their  passions  to  their  duties." 
Disputes  about  words  are  always  disputes  about  things  ; 
for  every  man  of  honesty  wiil  confess,  that  he  only 
uses  this  or  that  word  from  preference  for  this  or  that 
idea.  How  should  expressions,  habitually  employed 
upon  the  most  vulgar  matters,  be  capable  of  inspiring 
generous  sentiments  ?  W:ien  we  pronounce  the  words 
Interest  and  Utility,  shall  we  excite  the  same  thoughts 
in  our  hearts,  as  when  v*-e  adjure  each  otiier  in  the  name 
of  Devotion,  and  of  Virtue  ? 

Wlien  Sir  Thomas  More  preferred  perishing  on  the 
scaffold  to  rc-ascending  the  summit  of  greatness,  by 
the  sacrifice  of  a  scruple  of  conscience  ;  when,  after  a 
year's  imprisonment,  enfeebled  by  suffering,  he  refu- 
sed to  return  to  the  wife  and  children  whom  he  loved, 
and  to  give  himself  up  again  to  those  mental  occupa- 
tions which  confer  so  much  vivacity,  and  at  the  same 
time  so  much  tranquility  upon  existence ;  when  hon- 
our alone,  tiiat  woridiy  religion,  made  an  ac^ed  King 
of  France  return  to  an  EnglisU  prison,  because  >  is  son 
had  not  kept  tne  promises  by  uieans  of  v/luch  he  ob- 
tained his  liberty  ;  when  Christians  lived  in  catacombs, 
renounced  the  light  of  aay,  and  feit  tne  heavens  only 


212 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS; 


in  tneir  souls  ;  if  any  one  had  said,  "  they  had  a  right 
understanding  of  their  interest,"  what  an  icy  chill 
v/ould  have  run  through  the  veins  at  hearing  such  a 
speech,  and  how  much  better  vvouid  a  compassionate 
look  have  revealed  to  us  all  that  is  sublime  in  such 
characters  1 

No,  assuredly,  life  is  not  such  a  withered  thing  as 
selfishness  has  made  it ;  all  is  not  prudence,  all  is  not 
calculation  ;  and  when  a  sublime  action  agitates  all  the 
powers  of  our  nature,  we  do  not  consider  whether  the 
generous  man,  who  sacrifices  himself  for  a  manifest 
good  purpose,  judiciously  calculated  his  personal  in- 
terest ;  we  think  that  he  sacrifices  ali  the  pleasures, 
all  the  advantages  of  this  world ;  but  that  a  celestial 
ray  descends  into  his  heart,  and  excites  a  happiness 
within  him,  which  has  no  more  resemblance  to  what  we 
usually  adorii  with  that  name,  than  immortality  has  ta 
life. 

It  was  not,  however,  without  a  motive,  that  somucit 
importance  has  been  attached  to  this  system  of  morals 
founded  upon  personal  interest.  Those  who  support 
it  have  the  air  of  supporting  a  theory  only?  and  it  is,, 
in  fact,  a  very  ingenious  contrivance,  for  the  purpose 
of  rivetting  the  yoke  of  every  species.  No  man,  how- 
ever depraved  he  may  be,  will  deny  the  necessity  of 
morality  ;  for  the  very  being  who  is  most  decidedly  de- 
ficient in  it,  would  wish  to  be  concerned  v/ith  those 
dupes  who  maintain  it.  But  what  address  was  there  in 
fixing  upon  prudence  as  the  basis  of  morality;  what 
an  opening  it  makes  for  the  ascendency  of  power  over 
the  transactions  of  conscience,  over  all  the  springs  in 
the  human  mind  by  which  events  are  regulated  ! 

If  calculation  ought  to  preside  over  every  thing,  the 
actions  of  men  will  be  judged  according  to  their  suc- 
cess ;  the  man  whose  good  feelings  have  been  the 
cause  of  misfortune,  will  be  justly  condemned;  the 
corrupt,  but  adroit  manager,  wili  be  justly  commend^ 
ed.  In  a  word,  individuals,  only  considering  each  other 
as  obstacles  or  instruments,  will  hate  those  who  im- 
pede them,  and  wiil  esteem  those  who  serve  them,  on- 
ly as  means  of  their  success.   Guilt  itself  has  mor^ 

J 


OF  THE  MOR-\L  SYSTEM,  &c. 


*rancleur  when  it  arises  from  the  disorder  of  inSamed 

o  ... 

passion^  than  v/heii  personal  interest  is  its  object ;  how 
ihen  allege  that  to  be  the  principle  of  yiriue  'fthich 
'irould  dishonour  vice  itself  1* 

In  Bentlianr  s  vrork  on  Leg"Lslation,  published,  or  rather  il- 
[  lustrated.  by  ^1.  Dumoni,  there  are  several  argun^ents  on  the 
'  principle  of  utility,  which  agree  in  many  respects  \vith  the  sys- 
tera  of  morals  founded  upon  personal  interest.    The  vrell-knowii 
anecdote  of  Aristides  making-  tlie  Athenians  reject  a  project  of 
Themistocles,  by  simply  telling-  them  it  vras  advantageous  but 
,  unjust,  is  quoted  by  M.  Dimiont ;  but  he  refers  the  consequen- 
I  ces  which  may  be  drawn  from  this  trait  of  character,  as  well 
as  many  others,  to  the  general  utility  admitted  by  Bentham  as 
the  basis  of  all  our  daties.    The  advantage  of  each  indi^'idupJ, 
he  says,  ought  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  advantage  cf  the  whole  ; 
and  tiat  of  the  present  moment  to  fut^jrity,  by  talting  one  step 
in  advance  :  vre  may  coriess,  that  virme  consists  in  the  sacrifice 
of  time  to  eternity,  and  this  sort  of  calculation  will  certainly 
not  be  condemned  by  the  advocates  for  enthusiasm  ;  but  what- 
ever effort  so  superior  a  man  as  M.  Dumont  may  m;ike,  he  never 
will  be  able  to  render  utility  and  self-devotion  s\-non\Tnous.  He 
asserts,  that  pleasure  and  pain  are  the  first  motives  of  human 
actions ;  and  he  then  supposes  that  the  pleasure  of  noble  minds 
consists  in  volimtardy  exposing-  themselves  to  the  sufiering-s  of 
real  life,  in  order  to  obtain  enjoyments  of  a  higher  nature. 
Doubtless,  we  may  make  out  of  ever}"  word  a  rohTor  to  reflect 
all  ideas  ;  but,  if  we  are  pleased  to  adiiere  to  the  natural  sig- 
nification of  ea.ch  term,  vre  shall  perceive  that  the  man  who  is 
told  that  his  ov/n  happiness  ought  to  be  tlie  end  of  all  his  ac- 
tions, will  not  be  prevented  from  doing-  the  evil  which  is  expe- 
dient for  him,  except  by  the  fear  or  the  danger  of  punishment; 
.'  —fear,  that  passion  braves  ;   danger,  that  ingenuity  hopes  to 
escape.    Upon  what  will  you  found  the  idea  of  justice  or  injus- 
tice, it  may  be  said,  if  not  upon  what  is  useful  or  hurtful  to  the 
gi-eater  number  ?  Justice,  as  to  individuals,  consists  in  the 
sacrifice  of  themselves  to  their  families  ;  as  to  families,  in  their 
sacrifice  to  the  state ;  as  to  the  state,  in  the  respect  for  certain 
UJichangeable  principles  which  constitute  the  happiness  and  the 
■  safety  of  the  human  species.    Doubtless,  the  majorit}-  of  the 
'  generations  of  men,  in  tlie  course  of  ages,  will  find:,  their  ?.c- 
coimt  in  having-  follosved  the  path  of  justice  ;  but,  in  order  to 
'  be  tridy  and  religiously  honest,  we  ought  alvrays  to  keep  In 
,  riew  the  worship  of  moi'al  beauty,  ind-ependently  of  all  the  cir- 
ti  cumstances  vrhieh  may  result  from  it.    UtiUty  is  necessarily 
I.  modified  by  events  :  virtue  ought  never  to  be  liable  to  tliis  m*- 
\''  flu^nce. 


214 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 
Of  the  moral  Syston^  founded  upon  A^aiional  Liter cs-* 


.N^OT  only  does  the  moral  system  founded  upon  per- 
sonal interest  introduce  into  the  mutual  relations  of  in- 
dividuals calcuiatioBs  of  prudence  and  selfishness, 
which  banish  sympathy,  confidence  and  generosity  ; 
but  the  morals  of  public  men,  of  those  who  act  in  the 
name  of  nations,  must  necessarily  be  perverted  by  this 
system.    If  it  is  true  that  the  morals  oi  individuals 
may  be  founded  upon  their  interest,  it  is  because  the 
entire  society  tends  to  order,  and  punishes  those  who 
violate  it ;  but  a  nation,  and  especially  a  powerful  statCj. 
is  an  isolated  existence,  to  which  the  laws  of  recipro- 
city cannot  be  applied.    It  may  be  said,  with  truth,  that 
at  the  end  of  a  certain  number  of  years  unjust  nations 
yield  to  the  hatred  which  their  injustice  inspires  ;  but 
several  generations  may  pass  away  before  these  great 
crimes  are  punished  ;  and  I  know  not  how  we  could 
convince  a  statesman,  under  all  circumstances,  that, 
an  action,  blameabie  in  itself,  is  not  useful,  aixl  that 
political  wisdom  and  morality  are  ever  in  accord : — this 
point,  therefore,  is  not  proved ;  and,  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  almost  a  received  axiom,  that  the  tv/o  objects  can-^ 
not  be  united.  ] 
Nevertheless,  what  w^ouid  become  of  the  human : 
race  if  morality  was  nothing  but  an  old  woman's  tale, 
invented  to  console  the  weak,  until  they  become  strong-.^ 
er  ?  How  should  it  be  honoured  in  the  private  relations 
of  life,  if  the  government,  upon  which  all  turn  their 
eyes,  is  ailov/ed  to  dispense  vv^th  it?  and  hov/  should  . 
this  not  be  allowed,  if  interest  is  the  foundation  of^ 
morals  ?  Nobody  can  deny  that  there  are  cotuiiic^eiicies,. 
in  which  those  great  masses  called  empircb  (those 
g-reat  masses  which  are  in  a  state  of  nature  witn  reia- 
t.ioii  to  each  otaer)  fine!  a  momentary  advantage  in  coni'- 


Oy  TEE  MORAI.  SYSTEM,  kc. 


215 


TOittiiig  an  act  of  iDjostice ;  and  wi:at  is  momentary 
with  regard  to  nations,  is  often  a  whole  age. 

Kant,  in  his  wmirigs  on  political  o  oralitr,  shows, 
!  with  the  greatest  force,  that  no  exception  can  be  ad- 
mitted in  the  cede  of  dutj.    In  short,  when  we  rely 
j  upon  circumstances  for  the  justiScation  of  an  inimoia! 
action,  upon  what  prmcipie  can  we  stop  at  this  or  that 
point  ?  Would  not  t^^e  more  impetuous  of  our  natural 
I  passions  be  of  niuch  greater  power  than  the  caicuia- 
■  tions  of  reason,  if  we  admitted  public  or  private  in- 
terest as  an  excuse  toi  injustice  i 

Wtie?3,  attiie  rocst  bloody  sera  of  the  ReTolutioHj 
they  wished  to  aut-^orize  ail  crimes,  they  gave  their 
goveinment  the  name  of  tne  Committee  oi  Public 
Safety — ^this  was  to  illustrate  the  received  maxim,  that 
the  safety  of  the  people  is  the  supreme  law — the  su- 
preme law  is  justice.    When  it  shall  be  proved  that 
the  earthly  interests  of  a  nation  may  be  proirioted  by 
an  act  of  oieanriess  or  of  ii:justice,  we  shall  stiii  be 
equa-iy  vile  and  criminal  in  committing  it ;  for  tne  in- 
tegrity of  moral  principles  is  of  more  consequence 
than  the  interests  of  nations.    Individuals,  and  socie- 
ties, are  answerable,  in  the  first  p{?ce,  for  that  di*dne 
I  inheritance  which  ought  to  be  transmitted  to  the  suc- 
I  cessive  generations  of  mankind.    Loftiness  of  mind, 
I  generosity,  equiiy,  every  magnariimous  sentinient,  in 
ji  a  word,  ought  fi^vst  to  be  preserved,  at  our  own  ex- 
pense, and  even  at  tlie  espei;se  of  others  ;  smce  thev, 
as  well  as  we,  are  bound  to  sacrifice  themselves  to 
their  sentiments. 

Injustice  always  sacrinces  one  portion  of  society  to 
another.    AccordiDf^  i&  wnai  arithmetical  calculation 
is  this  sacrince  enjoined  £  Can  the  majority  dispose  of 
the  minority,  if  the  io:  mer  only  exceeas  the  latter  by 
I  a  few  voices  r   Tne  members  of  one  and  the  same 
1  fciniiiy,  a  coiispany  of  merc?iants,  nobles,  ecclesiastics, 
*   whatever  may  be  their  numbers,  ha  e  not  the  rigl.i  of 
saying  that  every  t.^mg  ougnt  to  yield  to  their  seveial 
interests  :  but  when  aDy  assen.bly  oi  men,  ict  it  be  as 
I   inconsiaerabie  as  tt.cX  of  tiie  Komans  in  tueir  origin; 
1   when  this  assembiV,  I  say,  cans  itseli  a  nation,  tnen 


i 


216 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


it  should  be  allowed  to  do  any  thin^  for  its  own  advan* 
tage  !  This  term  Nation  would  thus  become  synony- 
mous with  that  of  Legion^  which  the  devil  assumes  in 
the  Gospel ;  but  there  is  no  more  reason  for  giving  up 
the  obligations  of  duty  for  the  sake  of  a  nation,  than 
for  that  of  any  other  collective  body  of  men.  It  is  not 
the  number  of  individuals  which  constitutes  their  im- 
portance in  a  moral  point  of  view.  When  an  innocent 
person  dies  on  the  scaffold,  v/hole  generations  attend 
to  his  misfortune  ;  while  thousands  perish  in  a  battle 
without  any  inquiry  after  their  fate.  Whence  arises 
this  astonishing  difference  v;hich  men  make  between 
an  act  of  injustice  commitled  against  an  individual, 
and  the  death  of  numbers  ?  The  cause  is,  the  import- 
ance which  all  attach  to  the  moral  law  ;  it  is  of  a  thou- 
sand times  more  consequence  than  physical  life  in  the 
universe,  and  in  the  soul  of  each  of  us,  which  also  is 
itself  an  universe. 

If  we  make  morality  only  a  calculation  of  prudence 
and  wisdom,  a  species  of  economical  management, 
there  is  something  like  energy  in  not  wishing  to  pos- 
sess it.  A  sort  of  ridicule  attaches  to  persons  of  con- 
dition, who  still  maintain  what  are  called  romantic 
•maxims,  fidelity  in  our  engagements,  respect  f  r  the 
rights  of  individuals,  &c.  We  forgive  these  scruples 
in  the  case  of  iiidividuais  who  are  independent  enough 
to  be  dupes  at  tneir  own  expense  ;  but  when  we  con- 
sider those  who  direct  the  affairs  of  nations,  there  are 
circumstances  in  which  they  may  be  biamed  for  being- 
just,  and  have  their  integrity  objected  to  them  ;  for  if 
private  morals  are  founded  upon  personal  interest, 
there  is  much  more  reason  for  public  morals  to  be 
founded  upon  national  interest ;  and  these  morals,  upon 
occasion,  may  m.ake  a  duty  of  the  greatest  crimes  :  so 
easy  is  it  to  reduce  to  an  absurdity  whatevei  wanders 
from  the  simple  grounds  of  truth.  Rousseau  said, 
"  that  it  was  not  allowable  for  a  nation  to  purchase  the 
"  most  desirable  revolution  with  the  biooa  of  one  in- 
"  nocent  person  :"  these  simple  words  comprehend  all 
that  IS  true,  sacred,  divine,  in  tiie  destiny  of  man. 

It  assuredly  was  not  for  the  advantages  of  this  life. 


or  tut  MORAL  SYSTJbM,  £cc= 


to  secure  some  additional  enjoyments  to  sonae  days  of 
existence,  and  to  deiay  a  little  the  death  of  some  dy- 
ing creatures,  that  conscience  and  reiii^-ion  were  be- 
stowed upon  man.  It  was  for  this  ;  that  beings  in  pos- 
session of  free-will  might  choose  iustice,  and  sacri= 
ftce  utility  ;  might  prefer  the  future  to  the  preseiit,  the 
invisible  to  the  visible,  and  the  dignity  of  the  human 
species  to  the  mere  preservation  of  individuals. 

Individuals  are  virtuous  when  ti:ey  sacrifice  their 
private  interest  to  the  geueral  good  ;  but  governments* 
in  their  turn,  are  individuals,  who  ought  to  sacrifice 
their  personal  advantages  to  the  law  of  duty  :  if  the 
morals  of  statesmen  were  only  founded  on  the  pub= 
lie  good,  their  morals  might  lead  them  into  sin,  if 
not  always,  at  least  sometimes;  and  a  single  justi= 
tied  exception  w^ould  be  sufficient  to  annihilate  all 
the  morality  in  the  world  ;  for  all  true  principles  are 
absolute  :  if  two  and  two  do  not  make  four,  the  deep  = 
est  algebraic  computations  are  absurd  ;  and  if,  in  theo- 
ry, tiiere  is  a  single  case  in  which  a  m^an  ought  not  to 
do  his  dutij^  every  philosophical  and  religious  maxim 
is  overturned,  and  nothing  remains  but  prudence  or 
hypocrisy. 

Let  me  be  permitted  to  adduce  the  exam. pie  of  my 
father,  since  it  is  directly  applicable  to  ti-.e  point  in 
question.  It  has  been  often  repeated,  that  M.  Z'Teckeu 
was  ignorant  of  hum.an  nature,  because  on  m.any  og- 
rasions  he  refused  to  avail  himself  of  means  of  cor^ 
ruption  or  violence,  the  advantages  of  which  were  be- 
lieved to  be  certain.  I  may  venture  to  say,  that  no- 
body can  read  the  works  of  M  Xecker,  entitl^ed,  '*The 
^*  History  of  the  French  Revolution," — The  Execu- 
"  tive  Power  in  great  Governments,"  S;c.  without  nnd" 
ing  in  them  enlightened  views  of  the  human  heart; 
and  I  shall  not  be  contradicted  by  any  of  those  who 
have  lived  in  intimacy  with  3/1.  Necker,  when  I  assert, 
that,  notVv'ithstanding  his  admirable  goodness  of  dispo- 
sition, he  had  to  guard  himself  against  a  too  lively  tal- 
ent for  ridicule,  and  rather  a  severe  mode  of  estimat- 
ing mediocrity  of  mind  and  soul :  what  he  has  written 
vof,.  II.  T 


218  PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS.  g| 

upon  the  Happiness  of  Fools"  appears  to  me  enougii 
to  prove  it.  In  a  word,  as,  in  addition  to  all  the^se 
qualities,  he  was  eminently  a  man  of  wit,  nobody  sur- 
passed him  in  the  delicate  and  profound  knowledge  of 
those  with  whom  he  was  connected  ;  but  he  was  de- 
termined, by  a  decision  of  his  conscience,  never  to 
shrink  from  any  consequences  whatever,  which  might 
result  from  an  obedience  to  the  commands  of  duty. 
We  may  judge  differently  concerning  the  events  of  the 
French  Revolution  ;  but  I  believe  it  to  be  impossible 
for  an  impartial  observer  to  deny  that  such  a  principle, 
generally  adopted,  would  have  saved  France  from  the 
misfortunes  under  which  she  has  groaned,  and  from, 
"what  is  still  worse,  the  example  which  she  has  dis- 
played. 

During  the  most  fatal  epochs  of  the  reign  of  terror, 
many  honest  men  accepted  offices  in  the  administra- 
tion, and  even  in  the  criminal  tribunals,  either  to  do 
good,  or  to  diminish  the  evil  which  was  committed  in 
them  ;  and  all  defended  themselves  by  a  mode  of  rea- 
soning very  generally  received — that  they  prevented  a 
villain  from  occupying  the  place  they  filled,  and  thus 
rendered  service  to  the  oppressed.  To  allow  our- 
selves the  use  of  bad  means  for  an  end  which  we  be- 
lieve to  be  good,  is  a  maxim  of  conduct  singularly  vi- 
cious in  its  principle.  Men  know  nothing  of  the  fu- 
ture, nothing  of  themselves  with  respect  to  the  mor- 
row ;  in  every  circumiStance,  and  at  every  moment, 
duty  is  imperative,  and  the  calculations  of  wisdom,  as 
to  consequences  which  it  may  foresee,  ought  to  be  of 
no  account  in  the  estimate  of  duty. — What  right  have 
those  who  were  the  instruments  of  a  seditious  author- 
ity to  keep  the  title  of  honest  men,  because  they  com- 
mitted unjust  actions  in  a  gentle  manner  ?  Rudeness 
in  the  execution  of  injustice  would  have  been  much 
better,  lor  the  difficulty  of  supporting  it  would  have 
iucreasedj  and  the  most  mischievous  of  all  alliances 
is  that  of  a  sanguinar  decree  and  a  polite  executioner. 

The  benevolence  we  may  exercise  in  detail  is  no 
compensation  for  the  evil  which  we  cause  by  lending 
the  support  of  our  names  to  the  pany  that  uses  them. 


OF  THE  MORAL  SYSTEM,  kc. 


219 


We  ouQ^htto  profess  the  worship  of  virtue  upon  earth., 
in  order  that  not  only  our  contemporaries,  but  our  pos- 
terity, may  feel  its  influence.  The  ascendency  of  a 
brave  example  endures  many  years  after  the  objects  of 
a  transitory  charity  have  ceased  to  exist.  The  most 
important  lesson  that  we  can  inculcate  into  man  in  this 
world,  and  particularly  with  relation  to  public  affairs, 
is,  !\ot  to  compromise  duty  for  any  consideration. 

"  When  we  set  about  bargaining  with  circumstances, 
"  ail  is  lost ;  for  there  is  nobody  who  cannot  plead  this 
"  excuse.    One  has  a  wife,  children,  or  nephews,  who 
"  are  in  need  of  fortunes  ;  others  want  active  employ- 
"  ment ;  or  allege  I  know  not  what  virtuous  pretexts, 
which  all  lead  to  the  necessity  of  their  having  a  place^ 
"  to  which  money  and  power  are  attached.    Are  we 
"  not  weary  of  these  subterfuges,  of  which  the  Revo- 
iUtion  furnished  incessant  examples?  We  met  none 
but  persons  v/ho  complained  of  having  been  forced 
to  quit  the  repose  they  preferred  to  every  thing — 
that  domestic  life  into  which  they  were  impatient  to 
return ;  and  we  were  well  aware,  that  these  very 
persons  had  employed  their  days  and  nights  in  pray- 
"  ing  that  they  might  be  obliged  to  devote  their  days 
and  nights  to  public  affairs,  which  could  have  entire- 
"  ly  dispensed  with  their  services."* 

The  ancient  lawgivers  m.ade  it  a  duty  for  the  citizens 
to  be  concerned  in  political  interests.  The  Christian 
religion  ought  to  inspire  a  disposilion  of  entirely  an- 
other nature  ;  that  of  obeving  authority,  but  of  keep- 
ing ourselves  detached  from  the  affairs  of  state,  when 
they  may  compromise  our  conscience.  The  differ- 
ence which  exists  between  the  ancient  and  modern 
governments  explains  this  opposite  manner  of  consid- 
ering the  relations  of  men  towards  their  country. 

The  political  science  of  the  ancients  v»'as  intimately 
united  with  their  religion  and  morals  ;  the  social  state 
was  a  body  full  of  life.  Every  individual  considered 
himself  as  one  of  its  members.     The  smallness  cf 

*  This  is  the  passag^e  which  gave  the  greatest  offence  to  tbe 
Llteraiy  Pohce^ 


220 


FillLOSOPHY  AND  MORALS^ 


states,  the  number  of  slaves,  which  still  further  con- 
tracted that  of  the  citizens,  all  made  it  a  duty  to  act 
for  a  country  which  had  need  of  every  one  of  its  chil- 
dren. Magistrates,  v/arriors,  artists,  philosophers,  al- 
most the  gods  thea-iselves,  mingled  together  upon  the 
public  arena  ;  and  the  same  men  by  tarns  gained  a  bat- 
tic,  exhibited  a  masterpiece  of  art,  gave  laws  to  their 
country,  or  endeavoured  to  discover  the  laws  of  the 
universe. 

If  we  make  an  exception  of  the  very  small  number 
of  free  governments,  the  greatness  of  modern  states^ 
and  the  concentration  of  monarchical  power,  have  ren- 
dered politics  entirely  negative,  if  we  may  so  express 
ourselves.  The  business  is,  to  prevent  one  person 
from  annoying  another;  and  government  is  charged 
with  the  high  sort  of  police,  which  permits  every  one 
to  enjoy  the  advantages  cf  peace  and  social  order, 
while  he  purchases  this  security  by  reasonable  sacri- 
fices. The  divine  Lau'giver  of  mankind,  therefore, 
enjoined  that  morality  which  was  most  adapted  to 
the  situation  of  the  world  under  the  Roman  empire, 
when  he  laid  down  as  a  law  the  paym.ent  of  tributes, 
and  submission  to  government  in  ail  that  dnty  docs  not 
forbid  ;  but  he  also  recommended  a  life  of  privacy  in 
the  strongest  manner. 

Men  v.'ho  are  ever  desirous  cf  theorizing  their 
'oeculiar  inclinations,  adroitly  confound  ancient  and 
Christian  morals.  It  is  necessary,  they  say  (like  the 
:ancients},  to  serve  our  country,  and  to  be  usefui  citi- 
zeiis  in  the  state  ;  it  is  necessary,  they  say  (like  the 
Christians)  to  submit  ourselves  to  power  estabiished 
'by  the  will  of  God.  It  is  thus  that  a  mixture  of  the 
system  of  quietness  with  that  of  action  produces  a  dou» 
bie  immorality ;  wiiCn,  taken  singly,  they  had  both 
claims  to  respect.  The  activity  of  the  Greek  and  Ro- 
man citizens,  such  as  it  could  be  exercised  in  a  repub- 
3ic,  was  a  noble  virtue.  The  force  oi  Christian  quiet- 
ness  is  also  a  virtue,  and  one  of  great  power;  for 
Christianity,  which  is  accused  of  weakness,  is  invinci- 
ble in  its  own  spirit,  that  is  to  say,  in  t'-^e  energy  of 
lefiisah  •  But  the  tricking  selSshncss  of  ?.mbitious 


or  THE  MOIiAL  SYSTE^r,  Sec. 


221 


:r.en  teaches  them  the  art  of  combining  opposite  argu- 
ments ;  so  that  they  can  meddle  with  every  tl-.ing-  iike 
Pagans,  and  submit  to  every  thing  iike  Christians. 

The  universe,  my  &Iend,  reg-ards  not  thee," 

is,  ho-'cverj  what  we  may  say  to  all  the  'aniTers?, 
r-hsenomena  excepted.  It  would  be  a  truly  ridiculous 
vanity  to  assign  as  a  motive  for  politica!  ac-ivity  in  all 
cases,  the  pretext  of  that  service  w!  ::  v  :  --^ay  ren- 
der our  country.  This  sort  of  useiuii-css  is  hardly 
ever  more  tha.n  a  pompous  name,  which  covers  per- 
sonal interest. 

"  The  art  of  sopliists  has  always  been  to  oppose  cne  du- 
ty to  another.  We  incessantly  imagine  circumstances  in 
which  this  frightful  perplexity  may  exist.  The  great- 
er part  of  dramatic  ficiions  are  founded  upon  it.  Yet 
real  life  is  more  simple  :  we  there  frequently  see  vir- 
tues opposed  to  interests;  but  perhaps  it  is  true,  that 
no  honest  man  could  ever  dcubtj  on  any  occasion, 
>vbat  his  duty  enioined.  The  voice  of  conscience  is 
so  delh^ate,  that  it  is  easy  lo  stiSe  it  ;  but  it  is  so 
clear,  that  it  is  impossible  to  mistake  it. 

Akncvn  mxaxim  contains,  under  a  simple  form.,  all 
the  theory  of  morals.  <•  Do  what  you  ought,  happen 
"  what  wiil.-^  When  we  decide,  on  the  contrary,  that 
the  probity  of  a  public  man  consists  in  sacrificing  eve- 
-ry  thing  lo  the  temporal  advantages  of  his  nation, 
then  many  occasions  may  be  found,  in  which  we  may 
become  immoral  by  our  miorality.  This  sophism  is 
as  contnidictory  in  its  substance  as  in  its  form  :  this 
would  be  to  treat  virtue  as  a  cor  ' : :: :  :  - '  science,  and 
SB  entirely  submitted  to  circumz ...  ; : iri  its  app!ica= 
ticn.  ^Jay  God  guard  the  human  he::::  ::  :m  such  a 
responsibiUty  !  the  ii.i^ht  of  our  undt: g  is  too 
uncertain,  to  enable  us  to  judge  of  the  rivzir.erjt  when 
the  eternal  laws  of  duty  may  be  suspended  ;  or,  rather^ 
:i.is  moment  does  not  exist. 

If  it  was  once  generally  acknowledged,  that  national 
interest  itself  ought  to  be  subordinate  to  those  nobler 
thoughts  whicn  constitute  virtue.  ho~  wciald  the  con- 

70 i,  f9i  T 


222 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS'. 


scientioiis  man  be  at  his  ease  !  how  would  every  thing; 
in  politics  appear  clear  to  him,  when,  before,  a  con- 
tinual hesitation  made  him  tremble  at  every  step  !  It 
is  this  very  hesitation  which  has  caused  honest  men  to 
be  thought  incapable  of  state-affairs  ;  they  have  been 
accused  of  pusillanimity,  of  weakness,  of  fear;  and, 
on  the  contrary,  those  who  have  carelessly  sacrificed 
the  weak  to  the  powerful,  and  their  scruples  to  their 
interests,  have  been  called  men  of  an  energetic  nature. 
It  is,  however,  an  easy  energy  which  tends  to  our  own 
advantage ;  or,  at  least,  to  that  of  the  ruling  faction  ; 
for  every  thing  that  is  done  according  to  the  sense  of 
the  multitude  invariably  partakes  of  weakness,  let  it 
appear  ever  so  violent. 

The  race  of  men,  with  a  loud  voice,  demand  the 
sacrifice  of  every  thing  to  their  interest  ;  and  finisli 
by  compromising  this  interest  from  the  very  wish  for 
such  a  sacrifice  :  but  it  should  now  be  inculcated  into 
them,  that  their  happiness  itself^  which  has  been  made 
so  general  a  pretext,  is  not  sacred,  excepting  in  its 
compatibility  with  morals ;  for,  without  morals,  of 
what  consequence  would  the  whole  body  be  to  each 
individual  ?  When  once  we  have  said  that  morals 
ought  to  be  sacrificed  to  national  interest,  we  are  very 
liable  to  contract  the  sense  of  the  word  Nation  from 
day  to  day,  and  to  make  it  signify  at  first  our  own  par- 
tisans, then  our  friends,  and  then  our  family  ;  which 
is  but  a  decent  synony Die  for  ourselves. 


■ 


OF  THE  pnrxciPLE  or  morals. 


223 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Of  the  PrinciJ:::  ^  M.-cils  in  t':c  G:v^--i 
^  Phii^sof.h-J, 


The  ideal  philosophy  has  a  tendency,  from  its  vei'} 
Jiature.  to  refute  the  moral  system,  founded  upon  indi- 
vidual or  n?.tioiial  interest  :  it  does  not  allow  tem- 
poral happiness  to  be  the  end  of  our  existence  ;  and. 
referring  every  tliin;^;  to  the  life  of  the  souK  it  is  to  the 
exercise  of  the  v/i;i,  and  of  virtue,  that  it  attaches 
our  thoughts  and  aciions.  The  works  which  Kant 
has  written  upon  morals,  have  a  reputation  at  least 
equal  to  those  Avhicii  he  has  composed  upon  metaphv- 
sics. 

Two  distinct  inclinations,  he  says,  appear  manifest 
in  man  :  personal  interest,  which  he  derives  from  the 
attraction  of  his  sensations  ;  and  universal  justice^ 
which  arises  from  his  relations  to  the  human  race,  and 
to  the  Divinity  :  between  these  two  impulses  con- 
science decides  ;  she  resembles  Minerva,  who  made 
the  balance  incline,  when  the  votes  were  eo^ual  in  the 
Areopag-us.  Have  not  the  most  opposite  opinions 
facts  for  their  support?    "Would  not  "  the  for"  and 

tne  against'*  be  equally  true,  if  conscience  did  not; 
carry  with  her  the  supreme  cei  ti-in'.y  : 

]NIan,  who  is  placed  between  visible  and  almost 
equal  arguments,  which  direct  the  circumstances  of 
his  life  in  favour  of  good  or  evil  ;  man  has  received 
from  heaven  the  sentiment  of  duty,  to  decide  his 
choice.  Kant  endeavours  to  demonstrate  that  this  sen= 
timent  is  tne  neces-ary  cor.hh.ioii  cf  our  moral  being  ; 
the  truth  which  precedes  all  those,  the  knowledge  of 
Vrhich  is  acquired  by  life.  Can  it  be  denied  that  con- 
science has  more  dignity,  when  we  believe  it  to  be  an 
innate  power,  than  v, hen  we  consider  it  in  the  light  of 
ft  faculty  acquired,  like  all  ethers  by  experience  and 


221 


PHILOSOPHY  AIsD  IvIORALS. 


habit  ?  And  it  is  in  this  point,  especially,  that  the  ideal 
metaphysics  exert  a  great  inHuepxe  over  the  moral 
conduct  of  man  :  they  attribute  the  same  primitive 
force  to  the  notion  of  duty  as  to  that  of  space  and 
lime  ;  and,  considering  them  both  as  inherent  in  our 
nature,  they  admit  no  more  doubt  of  one  than  of  the 
other. 

All  our  esteem  for  ourselves  and  for  others  ought  to 
be  founded  on  the  relations  which  exist  between  our 
actions  and  the  law  of  duty  ;  this  law  depends,  in  no  case, 
on  the  desire  of  happiness  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  often 
summoned  to  combat  that  desire.  Kant  goes  still  far- 
ther ;  he  afBrms,  that  the  first  effect  of  the  power  of 
virtue  is  to  cause  a  noble  pain,  by  the  sacrifices  which 
it  demands. 

The  destination  of  m.an  upon  this  earth  is  not  happi- 
ness, but  the  advance  tov/ards  moral  perfection.  It  is 
in  vain  that,  by  a  childish  play  of  words,  this  improve- 
ment is  called  happiness  ;  we  clearly  feel  the  difTerence 
between  enioyments  and  sacrifices  ;  arid  if  language 
was  to  adopt  the  same  terms  for  such  discordant  ideas, 
our  natural  judgment  would  reject  the  deception. 

It  has  been  oiten  said,  that  human  nature  had  a  ten- 
dency towards  happiness  :  this  is  its  involuntary  instinct ; 
but  the  instinct  of  reflection  is  virtue.  By  giving  man 
very  little  influence  over  his  own  happiness,  and  means 
of  improvement  without  number,  the  intention  of  the 
Creator  was  surely  not  to  make  the  object  of  our  lives 
an  almost  unattainable  end.  Devote  all  your  powers 
to  the  attainment  of  happiness  ;  control  your  charac- 
ter, if  you  can,  to  such  a  degree  as  not  to  feel  those 
wandering  desires,  which  nothing  can  satisfy  ;  and,  in 
spite  of  all  these  wise  arrangements  of  seif-iove,  you 
will  be  afB  cted  with  disorders,  you  will  be  ruined, 
you  will  be  imprisoned,  and  ail  the  edifice  of  your  self- 
ish cares  v»'iil  be  overturned. 

It  may  be  replied  to  this-—''  I  will  be  so  circumspect, 
"  that  I  vvili  not  have  any  enemies."  Let  it  be  so;  you 
will  not  have  to  reproach  yourself  with  any  acts  of 
generous  imprudei  ce  ;  but  sometimes  we  have  seen 
the  least  couraf:,eous  among  the  persecuted.    "  I  will 

manage  my  fortune  so  weii,  thatlwili  preserve  it,'^ 


or  TilE  FRIXCIFLE  GF  ^lOSALS.  22^ 

I  I  believe  it ; — but  there  are  universal  disasters,  "VThich 
I  do  not  spare  even  those  vrhose  principle  has  been  never 
I  to  expose  themselves  for  others;  and  illness  and  acci> 
[  dents  of  eveiy  kind,  dispose  of  our  coridition  in  spite 
j  of  ourselves.    Ho-v  then  should  happiness  be  the  end 
of  our  moral  iioerty  in  this  short  life  ;  happi;:ess,  vrhich 
chance,  sufirrirg-.  old  age,  and  death,  put  cut  of  our 
1  pawer  ?  The  case  isriOt  the  same  wiih  moral  improve- 
i  iTient  ;  every  day,  every  hour,  every  mir.ute,  may  con-- 
tribute  to  it  :  all  fortunate  and  urfortun:.:e  events 
equally  assist  it ;  and  this  work  depends  entirely  on 
ourselves,  whatever  may  be  our  situation  upon  earth. 

The  moral  system  of  Kant  and  Fichte  is  very  analo- 
gous to  that  of  the  Stoics  ;  but  the  Sroics  abovred  more 
to  the  ascendency  of  natural  qualities  ;  the  Roman 
pride  is  disc'iverable  in  their  manner  of  estimating 
mankind.  The  disciples  of  Rant  believe  in  ti:e  neces- 
sary and  continual  action  of  the  vib  :.:;:ii:.5t  evil  incii- 
:  :.:ioDS.  They  toleiate  no  exceptions  in  our  obedi- 
i  .ce  to  duty,  and  reject  ah  excuses  ^vhich  can  act  as 
motives  to  such  exceptions 

I'he  theory  of  Kant  corrcerning  veracity  is  an  exam- 
z  cf  thts ;  be  ri^T.tly  col  side  rs  it  as  the  basis  of  ail 
:::::aiiLy.    Wnen  ti^e  Son  of  God  called  himself  tiie 
Lo:^os5  or  the  Word,  perhaps  he  wished  to  do  honour 
to  that  admirable  facu.tv  i-   bne;u?.ge  of  revealing 
?  what  we  think.     Kant  :         .  icd    bis  respect  for 

! truth  so  far,  as  not  to  per  i.:: :.  violation  cf  it,  even  if 
a.  viiiian  came  and  demaiided,  Avhether  your  friend, 
whom  he  pvi">i;eb=  was  hidden  in  your  house.  He 
pr; tends, thr.t  -       U-;ht  never  lo  allow  ourselves  in  any 
,    paiticuiar  instance,   to  do  that  which  vrculd  be  in» 
,  admissible  as  a  general  law;  but,  on  this  occasion,  he 
'   forgets  that  we  may  make  a  general  law  cf  not  sac= 
riScing  truth,  excepting  to  another  virtue  ;  for,  as 
■   soon  as  personal  interest  is  removed  from  a  question. 
'  we  need  not  fear  sophisms, and  conscience  pronounces 
with  equity  upon  all  thiiigs. 

The  theory  of  Kant  in  m.orals  is  severe,  and  seme- 
i   times  dry  ;  for  it  excludes  sensibility.    He  regards  it 
•   as  a  rtSex  act  cf  sensation,  ana  as  certain  to  lead  to 
passions  in  ivhich  taere  is  always  a  mixture  cf  selfish- 


226 


PHILOSOPHY  AN'D  MORALS. 


ness ;  it  is  on  this  account  that  he  does  not  admit  sen- 
sibility for  a  g-iiide,  and  that  he  places  morals  under  thei 
safeguard  <)f  unchang-eable  principles.    There  is  no-| 
thing  more  severe  tiian  this  doctrine ;  but  there  is  a 
severity  Vv'hich  softens  us,  even  when  it  treats  the  im- 
pulses of  the  heart  as  objects  of  suspicion,  and  en- 
deavours to  banish  them  all  :  however  rigorous  a  mor- 
alist may  be,  when  headdresses  our  conscience,  he  is 
sure  to  touch  us.    He  who  says  to  man — Find  every 
thing  in  yourself — always  raises  up  in  the  soul  some 
noble  object,  which  is  connected  with  that  very  sensi-. 
biiity  whose  sacrifice  it  demands.    In  studying  the  phi-l 
losophy  of  Kant,  we  must  distinguish  sentiment  from 
sensibility ;  he  admits  the  former  as  the  judge  of  philo- 
sophical truth ;  he  considers  the  latter  as  properly  sub- 
ject to  the  conscience.    Sentiiiient  and  conscience  are 
terms  eniployed  almost  as  synonymes  in  his  writings  ; 
but  sensibility  approaches  much  nearer  to  the  sphere 
of  emotions,  and  consequently  to  that  of  the  passions, 
which  they  originate. 

We  cannot  grow  weary  of  admiring  those  writings 
of  Kant,  in  which  the  supreme  law  of  duty  is  held  up 
as  sacred  :  what  genuine  warmth,  what  animated  elo- 
quence, upon  a  subject  where  the  only  ordinary  en- 
deavour is  restraint  !  We  feel  penetrated  with  a  pro- 
found respect  for  the  austerity  of  an  aged  philosopher, 
constantly  submitted  to  the  invisible  power  of  virtue, 
ivhich  has  no  empire  but  that  of  conscience,  no  arms 
hut  those  of  remorse  ;  no  treasures  to  distribute  but 
the  inward  enjoyments  of  tiie  soul  ;  the  hope  of  v/hich 
cannot  be  offered  as  a  motive  for  theii*  attainment,  be- 
cause they  arc  incomprehensible  until  they  are  experi- 
enced. 

Among  the  German  philosophers,  some  men  of  vir- 
tue, not  inferior  to  Kant,  and  who  approach  nearer  to 
religion  in  their  inclinations,  have  attributed  the  origin 
of  the  moral  law  to  religious  sentiment.  This  sentiment 
cannot  be  of  the  nature  of  those  which  may  grow  into 
passions.  Seneca  has  depicted  its  calmness  and  pro- 
fundity,  by  saying,  "  In  the  bosom  of  the  virtuous  man 

I  knov,'  not  what  God,  but  a  God  has  habitation/' 


OF  THE  PRiNCIPLE  OF  MORALS.  227 


Kant  pretended,  that  it  was  to  impair  the  dibinter- 
e  sted  purity  of  morals,  to  present  the  perspective  of  a 
fuliire  life,  as  the  end  of  our  actions;  many  German 
writers  have  completely  refuted  him  on  this  point.  In 
effect,  the  immortality  of  he^.ven  has  no  relation  to  the 
rewards  and  punishments,  of  which  we  form  an  idea 
en  this  earth.  The  sentiment  which  makes  us  aspire 
to  immortality  is  as  disinterested  as  that  which  makes 
us  find  our  happiness  in  devoting  ourselves  to  the  hap- 
piness of  others  ;  for  the  first  offering  to  religious  felicity 
is  the  sacrifice  of  self ;  and  it  is  thus  necessarily  re- 
moved from  every  species  of  selfishness.  Whatever 
we  may  attempt,  we  must  return  to  the  acknowledg- 
ment, that  religion  is  the  true  foundation  of  morality  ; 
it  is  that  sensible  and  real  object  within  us,  which  can 
alone  divert  our  attention  from  external  objects.  If 
piety  did  not  excite  sublime  emotions,  who  would  sac- 
rifice even  sensual  pleasures,  however  vulgar  they 
might  be,  to  the  cold  dignity  of  reason  ?  We  must  be- 
gin the  internal  history  of  man  with  religion,  or  with 
sensation  ;  for  there  is  nothing  animated  besides.  The 
moral  system,  founded  upon  personal  interest,  would 
be  as  evident  as  a  mathematical  truth,  were  it  not  for 
its  exercising  more  control  over  the  passions  which 
overturn  all  calculations;  nothing  but  a  sentiment  can 
triumph  over  a  sentiment  ;  the  violence  of  nature  can 
only  be  conquered  by  its  exahation.  Reasoning,  in 
such  a  case,  is  like  the  schoolmaster  in  Fontaine  ;  no- 
body listens  to  him,  and  all  the  world  is  crying  out  for 
help. 

Jacobi,  as  I  shall  show  in  the  analysis  of  his  works, 
has  opposed  the  arguments  v/hich  Kant  uses,  in  order 
to  avoid  the  admission  of  religious  sentimeiU  as  ihe 
basis  of  morality.  He  believes,  on  the  contrary, 
that  the  Divinity  reveals  himself  to  every  man  in  par- 
ticular, as  he  revealed  himself  to  the  human  race, 
when  prayers  and  works  have  prepared  the  heart  to 
comprehend  him.  Another  philosopher  asserts,  that 
immortality  already  commences  upon  this  earth,  for 
him  who  desires  and  feels  in  himself  the  taste  for  rter- 
nai  things  ?  another  affirms,  that^rature  forces  man  to 


228 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


understand  the  will  of  God  ;  and  that  there  is  in  th& 
universe  a  groaning  and  imprisoned  voice,  which  in- 
vites us  to  deliver  the  world  and  ourselves,  by  combat- 
ing the  principle  of  evil,  under  all  its  fatal  appearan- 
ces. These  different  systems  are  influenced  by  the  im- 
agination of  each  writer,  and  are  adopted  by  those  who 
sympathize  with  him  ;  but  the  general  direction  of 
these  opiiuoDS  is  ever  the  same  ;  to  free  the  soul  from 
the  influence  of  external  objects  ;  to  place  the  empire 
of  ourselves  within  us  :  and  to  make  duty  the  law  of 
this  empire,  and  its  hope  another  life. 

Without  doubt,  the  true  Christians  have  taught  the 
same  doctrine  at  all  peiiods  ;  but  what  distinguishes 
the  new  German  school,  is  their  uniting  to  all  these 
sentiments,  which  they  suppose  to  be  equally  inheriied 
by  the  simple  and  ignorant,  the  highest  philosophy  and 
the  most  precise  species  of  knowledge.  The  sera  of 
pride  had  arrived,  in  which  we  were  told,  that  reason 
and  the  sciences  destroyed  all  the  prospects  of  imagin- 
ation, all  the  terrors  oi'  conscience,  every  belief  of  the 
heart ;  and  we  blushed  for  the  half  of  our  nature  which 
was  declared  weak  and  almost  foolish.  But  men  have 
made  their  appearance,  who,  by  dint  of  thinking,  have 
found  out  the  theory  of  all  natural  impressions  ;  and, 
far  from  wishing  to  stifle  them,  they  have  discovered 
to  us  the  noble  source  from  which  they  spring.  The 
German  moralists  have  raised  up  sentiment  and  enthu- 
siasm from  the  contempt  of  a  tyrannical  species  of 
reason,  which  counted  as  gain  only  what  is  destroyed, 
and  placed  man  and  nature  on  the  bed  of  Procrustesj 
that  every  part  of  them  might  be  cut  off,  which  the 
philosophy  of  materialism  could  not  understand. 


OF  SCIENTIFIC  MORALITY.  229 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Of  scientific  Morality. 


^INCE  the  taste  for  the  exact  sciences  has  taken 
hold  of  men's  minds,  they  have  wished  to  prove  every 
thing  by  demonstration  ;  and  the  calculation  of  proba= 
bilities  allowing  them  to  reduce  even  what  is  uncertain 
to  rules,  they  have  flattered  themselves  that  they  could 
resolve  mathematically  all  the  difficulties  offered  by 
the  nicest  questions  ;  and  extend  the  dominion  of  alge- 
bra over  the  universe.  Some  philosophers,  in  Ger- 
many, have  also  pretended  to  give  to  morality  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  science  rigorously  proved  in  its  princi- 
ples as  well  as  in  its  consequences,  and  not  admitting 
either  of  objection  or  exception,  if  the  first  basis  of  it 
be  adopted.  Kant  and  Fichte  have  attempted  this 
metapiiysicai  labour,  and  Schieiermacher,  the  transla- 
tor of  Piato,  and  the  author  of  several  religious  treati- 
ses, of  which  we  shall  speak  in  the  next  section,  has 
published  a  very  deep  book,  on  the  examination  of  dif- 
ferent systems  of  morality  considered  as  a  science.  He 
wished  to  find  out  one,  all  the  reasonings  of  v.'hicli 
should  be  perfectly  linked  together,  in  which  the  prin» 
ciple  should  involve  all  the  consequences,  and  every 
consequence  reproduce  the  prhicipie  ;  but,  at  present^ 
it  does  not  appear  that  this  object  is  attainable. 

The  aiicients  also  were  desirous  of  making  a  sci- 
ence  of  morality,  but  they  included  in  that  science 
laws  and  government  :  in  fact,  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
termhie  beforenand  all  the  duties  of  life,  when  v/e  do 
not  know  what  may  be  required  by  the  laws  and  man- 
ners of  the  couiitry  in  which  we  are  placed  ;  it  is  in 
this  point  of  view  tliat  Plato  has  imagined  his  republic. 
Man  altogether  is,  in  tnat  work,  considered  in  rela- 
tion to  religion,  to  politics,  and  to  morality  ;  but,  as  that 
repubiic  couid  not  exist,  one  cannot  conceive  iiowj  ill 

VOL,  II,  U 


230 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


the  midst  of  the  abuses  of  human  societ)",  a  code  of 
moraiity,  such  as  that  would  be,  could  supply  t^e 
habitual  interpretation  of  conscience.  Philosophers 
aim  at  the  scientific  form  in  all  things  ;  one  should  sav, 
they  flatter  themselves  that  they  shall  thus  chain  down 
the  future,  and  withdraw  themselves  entirely  from  the 
yoke  of  circumstances  :  but  what  frees  us  from  them, 
is,  the  soul  ;  the  sincerity  of  our  inward  love  of  vir- 
tue. The  science  of  morality  can  no  more  teach  us 
to  be  honest  men,  in  all  the  magnificence  of  that  ex- 
pression, than  geometry  to  draw,  or  literary  rules  to 
invent. 

Kant,  who  had  admitted  the  necessity  of  sentiment 
in  metaphysical  truths,  was  willing  to  dispense  with  it 
in  morality,  and  he  was  never  able  to  establish  iixon- 
te stably  m.ore  than  this  one  great  fact  of  the  human 
heart,  that  morality  has  duty,  and  not  interest,  for  its 
basis;  but  to  understand  duty,  conscience  and  religion 
mast  be  our  teachers.  Kant,  in  separating  religion 
from  the  motives  of  morality,  could  oni  see  in  con- 
science a  judge,  and  not  a  divine  voice,  and  therefore 
he  has  been  incessantly  presenting  to  that  judge  points 
of  difficulty;  the  solutions  of  them  which  he  has  giv- 
en, and  which  he  thought  evident,  have  been  attacked 
j-n  a  thousand  ways;  for  it  is  by  sentiment  alone  that 
we  ever  arrive  at  unariimity  of  opinion  amongst  men. 

Some  German  philosophers,  perceiving  the  impos-  i 
&ibility  of  reducing  into  law  all  the  affections  of  which  l 
our  nature  is  composed,  and  of  making  a  science,  as  it 
were,  of  all  the  em.otions  of  the  heart,  have  contented 
themselves  with  affirming,  that  moraiity  consists  in  a 
feeling  of  harmony  within  ourselves.  Undoubtedly, 
when  we  feel  no  remorse,  it  is  probable  we  are  not 
criminal ;  and  even  when  we  may  have  committed 
what  are  faults  according  to  the  opinions  of  others,  it" 
v/e  have  done  our  duty  according  to  our  own  opinion, 
we  are  not  guilty  ;  but  we  must  nevertheless  be  cau- 
tious in  relying  on  tbis  self-satisfaction,  which  ought, 
it  should  seem,  to  be  the  best  proof  of  virtue.  There, 
are  men  who  have  brought  themselves  to  take  their 
ovy-n  pride  for  conscience;  fanaticism,  in  others,  i'?  a 


OF  SCIENTIFIC  MORALITY. 


23i 


disinterested  medium,  which  justifies  every  thing  in 
their  eves  ;  aad  in  some  characters,  the  habit  of  com- 
iriittin.g  crimes  g'ives  a  kind  of  strength,  which  frees 
them  from  repentance,  at  least  as  long'  as  they  are  un- 
touched by  misfortur.e. 

It  does  not  follow  from  this  impossibility  of  discov- 
ering a  science  in  morality,  or  any  universal  signs,  by 
which  to  know  whether  its  precepts  are  observed,  that 
there  are  not  some  positive  duties  which  may  serve  as 
our  guides  ;  but  as  there  are  in  the  destiny  of  man  both 
necessity  and  liberty,  so,  in  his  conduct,  there  ought 
to  be  inspiration  and  method.  Nothing  that  belongs 
to  virtue  can  be  either  altogether  arbitrary,  or  alto- 
gether fixed  :  thus,  it  is  one  of  the  miracles  of  reli- 
gion, that  it  unites,  in  the  same  degree,  the  exultation 
of  love  and  submission  to  the  law  ;  thus  the  heart  of 
man  is  at  once  satisfied  and  directed. 

I  shall  not  here  give  an  account  of  all  the  systems 
of  scientific  m.orality  which  have  been  published  in 
Germany ;  there  are  some  of  them  so  refined,  that, 
although  treating  of  our  own  nature,  one  does  not 
know  on  what  to  rest  for  the  conception  of  them.  The 
French  philosophers  have  rendered  moraiity  singular- 
ly dry,  by  referring  every  thing  to  self-interest.  Some 
German  metaphysicians  have  arrived  at  the  same  re- 
sult, by  nevertheless  building  all  their  doctrines  on 
sacrifices.  Neither  systems  of  materialism,  nor  those 
of  abstraction,  can  give  a  complete  idea  of  virtue, 


232  mLO&OPHY  AND  MORALS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Jacobi, 


It  ^vould  be  diffir'jlt  in  any  country  to  meet  with  a 
ixiari  of  letters  of  a  uiore  clistinsruishec!  uaturc  than  Ja- 
cob! '  with  every  advantage  of  person  and  fortune,  he 
devoted  hirBself,  from  his  youth,  during  forty  years, 
to  aicrUiation.  P'uiosopl^iy  is  orr^inariiy  a  consolation 
or  an  asylunn  ;  but  he  who  makes  choice  of  it  wl-en 
eircun;! stances  concur  to  promise  him  great  success  in 
the  world,  is  the  more  worthy  of  respect.  Led  by  his 
chas  acter  to  acknowledge  the  power  of  sentin^ent,  Ja- 
cobi  busied  himself  with  abstract  ideas,  principally  to 
show  their  insuf?icit.ncy.  His  writhsgs  on  metaphysics 
are  much  esteemed  in  Germany  ;  yet  it  is  chitfiy  as  a 
great  mcralist  that  his  reputation  is  universal. 

He  ',vas  the  first  who  attacked  morality  founded  on 
interest;  and,  by  assienins^  as  the  principle  of  his  own 
system,  religii^us  sentiment  considered  philosophical- 
ly, lie  has  created  a  doctrine  distinct  from  that  of  Kant, 
"who  refers  every  thing  to  the  inflexible  law  of  duty, 
and  from  ti^at  of  the  new  m^etaphy sicians,  who  aim, 
as  I  have  just  said,  at  applying  the  strictness  of  science 
to  the  theory  of  virtue. 

Schiller  in  ari  epigram  against  Kant*s  system  of  mo- 
rality? says,  ^'  I  take  pleasure  in  serving  my  friends  ; 
"  it  IS  agreeable  to  me  to  perform  my  duty  ;  that  makes 
"  me  uneasy,  for  then  I  am  not  virtuous."  This  plea- 
santry carries  v.'ith  it  a  deep  sense  ;  for,  although  hap- 
piness oui^ht  never  to  be  our  object  in  fulfilling  our 
duty,  yet  the  inward  satisfaction  which  it  afibrds  us  is 
precisely  what  may  be  called  the  beatitude  of  virtue, 
'1  i-is  word  Beatitude  has  lost  something  of  its  dignity  : 
it  must,  however,  be  recurred  to,  for  it  is  necessary  to 
express  that  kind  of  impression  which  makes,  us  sa» 


JAGOBI. 


233 


crifice  happiness,  or  at  least  pleasure,  to  a  gentler  and 
a  purer  state  of  mind. 

In  fact,  if  sentiment  does  not  second  morality,  how 
would  the  latter  make  itself  respected  ?  Hnw  could 
reason  and  will  be  united  together,  if  not  by  sentiment, 
when  the  will  has  to  controul  the  passions  ?  A  Ger- 
man philosopher  has  said,  that  "  there  is  no  fihilosofihy 
^'  but  the  Christian  religion  and  certainly  he  did  not 
so  express  himself  to  exclude  philosophy,  but  because 
he  v/as  convinced  that  the  highest  and  the  deepest  ideas 
led  to  the  discovery  of  the  singular  agreement  between 
that  religion  and  the  nature  of  man.  Between  these 
tvv'o  classes  of  moralists,  that  which  with  Kant,  and 
others  still  more  abstracted,  refers  all  the  actions  of 
morality  to  immutable  precepts,  and  that  which  with 
Jacobi  declares,  that  every  thing  is  to  be  left  to  the 
decision  of  sentiment,  Christianity  seems  to  show  the 
wonderful  point,  at  v/hich  the  positive  law  has  not  ex- 
cluded the  inspiration  of  the  heai  t,  nor  that  inspiration 
the  positive  law. 

Jacobi,  who  has  so  much  reason  to  confide  in  the  pu- 
rity of  his  conscience,  was  v;rong  to  lay  down  as  a  prin- 
ciple that  we  should  yield  entirely  to  whatever  the  mo- 
tions of  our  mind  may  suggest.  The  dryness  of  some 
intolerant  writers,  who  admit  no  modification  or  indul- 
gence in  the  application  of  some  precepts,  has  driven 
Jacobi  into  the  contrary  excess. 

When  the  French  moralists  are  severe,  they  are  so 
to  a  degree  which  destroys  individual  ch?cracter  in  man  ; 
it  is  the  spirit  of  the  nation  to  love  authority  in  every- 
thing. The  German  philosophers,  and  Jacobi  above 
all,  respect  v/hat  constitutes  the  particular  existence 
of  every  being,  and  judge  of  actions  by  their  source,  that 
is  to  say,  according  to  the  good  or  bad  impulse  which 
causes  them.  There  are  a  thousand  ways  of  being  a 
very  bad  man,  without  offending  against  any  received 
law,  as  a  detestable  tragedy  may  be  written,  without 
any  neglect  of  theatrical  rules  and  effect.  When  the 
soul  has  no  natural  spring,  it  seeks  to  know  what 
ought  to  be  said,  and  what  ought  to  be  done,  in  every 
circumstance,  that  it  may  ^  e  acquittetl  tow?.rcif5  itself, 

VOL.  n,  Us  ' ' 


234 


PHILOSOPHY  ANB  MORALS. 


and  towards  others,  by  submitting  to  what  is  ordained. 
The  law,  hov/ever,  in  nioraiity,  as  in  poetry,  can  only 
teach  what  oii.2;ht  not  to  be  done  ;  but,  in  all  things, 
"vrhat  is  good  and  sublime,  is  only  revealed  to  us  by 
the  divinity  of  our  heart. 

Public  utility,  as  I  have  explained  it  in  the  preced- 
ing chapter,  might  lead  us  to  be  immoral  by  morality. 
In  the  relations  of  private  life,  on  the  contrary,  it  may 
sometimes  happen,  that  a  conduct  which  is  perfect 
according  to  worldly  estimation,  may  proceed  from  a 
bad  principle  ;  that  is  to  say,  may  belong  to  some- 
thing dry,  maiicious,  and  uncharitable.  Natural  pas- 
sions  and  superior  talents  are  displeasing  to  those 
men  vv^ho  are  too  easily  dignified  with  the  name  of  se- 
vere :  they  avail  themselves  of  their  morality,  \^hich 
they  say  comes  from  God,  as  an  enemy  would  take 
the  svv'ord  of  a  father  to  destroy  his  children. 

At  the  same  time  Jacobi's  aversion  to  the  inflexible 
rigour  of  law,  leads  him  too  far  in  freeing  himself  from 
it.  "  Yes,"  says  he,  "  I  would  be  a  liar  like  the  dying 
«  Desdemona*;  J  would  deceive  like  Orestes,  Vi^hen 

he  wished  to  die  instead  of  Pylades;  I  would  be  an 

assassin  like  Timoieon  ;  perjured  like  Epaminondas 
«  and  John  de  Witt ;  I  could  resolve  to  commit  sui- 
"  cide  like  Cato  ;  or  sacrilege  like  David  ;  for  I  have 

an  assurance  within  me,  that  in  pardoning  these 

things,  which  are  crimes  according  to  the  letter,  man 
'■■^  exercises  the  sovei  eign  right  which  the  majesty  of  his 

nature  confers  upon  him  ;  fixes  the  seal  of  his  dig- 
«  nity,  the  seal  of  his  divine  nature,  to  the  pardon 

which  he  grants. 

«  If  you  would  establish  a  system  universal  and 
«  strictly  scientiiic,  you  must  submit  conscience  to 
«  that  system  v^^iiich  has  petrified  life  ;  that  conscience 
«  must  become  deaf,  dumb,  and  insensible  ;  even  the 
^'  smallest  remains  of  its  root  (that  is,  of  the  human 
«  heart)  must  be  torn  up.    Yes,  as  truly  as  your  met- 

*  Desdemona,  in  order  to  save  her  husband  from  the  disgrace 
and  danger  of  the  crime  he  has  just  committedj  declares,  as 
she  is  dying,  that  she  has  killed  herself 


JACOBI. 


233 


aphysical  forms  riil  the  place  of  Apollo  and  the  Mu  « 
"  ses,  it  is  only  by  imposing  silence  on  your  heart  that 
"  you  will  be  able  implicitly  to  conform  to  lav/s  with- 
"  out  exception,  and  that  you  will  adopt  the  hard  and 
"  servile  obedience  which  they  demand :  thus  con- 
"  science  will  only  serve  to  teach  you,  like  a  profes- 
«  sor  in  his  chair,  the  truth  that  is  without  you  ;  and 

this  inward  light  will  soon  be  no  mor3  than  a  finger- 

post  set  up  on  the  highway  to  direct  travellers  on 
"  their  journey." 

Jacobi  is  so  well  guided  by  his  own  sentimcr.ts,  that 
perhaps  he  has  not  sufficiently  reflected  on  the  conse- 
quences of  this''  morality  to  ordinary  men  ;  for  what 
answer  couid  be  given  to  those  who  should  pretend, 
in  departing  from  duty,  that  they  obey  the  suggestions 
of  their  conscience  ?  Undoubtedly,  we  may  discover 
that  they  arc  hypocrites  who  speak  thus  ;  but  we  have 
furnished  them  with  an  argument  which  will  serve  to 
justify  them,  whatever  they  may  do;  and  it  is  a  great 
thing  for  men  to  have  phrases  to  repeat  in  favour  of 
their  conduct ;  they  make  use  of  them  at  first  to  de- 
ceive others,  and  end  with  deceiving  themselves. 

Will  it  be  said  that  this  independent  doctrine  can 
only  suit  characters  which  are  truly  virtuous?  There 
ought  to  be  no  privileges  even  for  virtue ;  for  from 
the  moment  she  desires  them,  it  is  probable  she  ceases 
to  deserve  them.  A  subdme  equality  reigns  in  the 
empire  of  duty,  and  something  passes  at  the  bottom 
of  the  human  heart  which  gives  to  every  man,  when 
he  sincerely  desires  it,  the  means  of  perforoiiiig  all  that 
enthusiasm  inspires,  without  transgressiiig  tne  limits 
of  the  Christian  law,  which  is  also  the  work  of  an 
holy  enthusiasm. 

The  doctrine  of  Kant  may  in  effect  be  considered 
as  too  dry,  because  it  does  not  attribute  sufficient  in- 
fluence to  religion  ;  but  it  is  not  surprising  that  he 
should  have  been  inclined  not  to  make  sentiment  the 
base  of  his  morality,  at  a  time  when  there  was  so 
widely  diffused,  and  especially  in  Germany,  an  affec» 
tatioii  of  sensibility,  which  necessarily  weakened  the 
spring  of  minds  and  characters.    A  genius  like  KantVj 


236 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


should  have  for  its  object,  to  give  a  new  dye  to  the 
mind. 

The  German  moralists  of  the  new  school,  so  pure 
in  their  sentiments,  to  whatever  abstract  systems  they 
abandon  themselves,  maybe  divided  into  three  clas- 
ses :  those  who,  like  Kant  and  Fichte,  have  aimed  at 
giving-  to  the  law  of  duty  a  scientific  theory,  and 
an  inflexible  application  ;  those,  at  the  head  of  whom 
Jacobi  is  to  be  placed,  who  take  religious  sentiment 
and  natural  conscience  for  their  guides;  and  those 
who,  making  revelation  the  basis  of  their  belief,  en- 
deavour to  unite  sentiment  and  duty,  and  seek  to  bind 
them  together  by  a  philosophical  interpretation.  These 
three  classes  of  moralists  equally  attack  morality 
founded  on  self-interest — That  morality  has  now 
scarcely  any  partisans  in  Germany  ;  evil  actions  may 
be  done  there,  but  at  least  tiie  theory  of  what  is  right 
is  left  untouchesU 


WOLDEMAH. 
CHAPTER  XVII. 


2JT 


Of  Woldemar, 


The  romance  of  Woldemar  is  the  work  of  the  sarns 
phiiosopbier  J?.cobi,  of  whom  I  have  spoken  in  the 
last  chapter.  This  work  contains  philosophical  dis- 
cussions, in  v.-hich  the  systems  of  morality  professed 
by  the  French  writers  are  v, armly  attacked,  and  the 
doctrine  of  Jacobi  is  explained  in  it  with  admirabie  el- 
oquence. In  that  respect  Woldemar  is  a  very  fine 
book  ;  but  as  a  novel  I  neither  like  the  conduct  nor  the 
end  of  it. 

The  author,  who,  as  a  philosopher,  refers  all  hu- 
man destiny  to  sentiment,  describes  in  his  work,  as  it 
appears  to  me,  sensibility  differently  from  wliat  it  is 
in  fact.  An  exaggerated  delicacy,  or  rather  a  whim- 
sical mianiier  of  considering  the  human  heart,  may  in- 
terest in  theory,  but  not  when  it  is  put  in  action,  and 
thus  attempted  to  be  made  something  real. 

Woldemar  feels  a  warm  friendship  for  a  person  who 
will  not  marry  him,  alihough  she  paitakes  of  his  feel- 
ing :  he  marries  a  woman  he  does  not  love,  because 
he  thinks  he  has  found  in  her  a  submissive  and  gentle 
character,  which  is  proper  for  marriage.  Scarcely 
has  he  married  her,  when  he  is  on  the  point  of  giving 
himself  up  to  the  love  he  feels  for  the  other.  She, 
who  v/ould  not  be  united  to  him,  still  loves  him,  but 
she  revolts  at  the  idea  that  it  is  possible  for  him  to 
love  her  :  and  yet  she  desires  to  live  near  him,  to  take 
care  of  his  children,  to  treat  his  vriie  as  her  sister, 
and  only  to  know  the  affections  of  nature  by  the  sym- 
patliy  of  friendship.  It  is  thus  that  a  piece  of  Goethe, 
much  boasted  of,  Stella^  finishes  with  a  resolution  ta- 
ken by  tv/o  women,  bound  by  sacred  ties  to  t^e  same 
man,  to  live  with  him  in  good  understanding  with  each 
other.  Such  inventions  only  succeed  in  Germany,  be- 
cause in  that  country  there  is  frequently  more  imagin= 
ation  than  sensibility.  Southern  souls  would  understand 
nothing  of  thi-s  neroism  of  sentiment;  passion  is  devo- 


238 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


;! 


ted,  but  jealous  ;  and  that  pretended  delicacy,  which 
sacrifices  love  to  friendship,  without  the  injunctions  of 
duty,  is  nothing  but  an  affected  coldness.  i 

All  this  generosity  at  the  expense  of  love  is  merely  j 
an  artificial  system.    We  must  not  admit  toleration, '1 
or  rivality,  into  a  sentiment  which  is  then  only  sub-  4 
lim.e,  when,  like  maternal  and  niial  tenderness,  it  is 
exclusive  and  ail-powerful.    We  ought  not,  by  our 
own  choice,  to  place  ourselves  in  a  situation  where 
morals  and  sensibility  are  riOt  of  one  accord;  for  what 
is  involuntary  is  so  beautiful,  that  it  is  alarming  to  be 
condemned  to  give  orders  to  ourselves  in  all  our  ac- 
tions, and  to  live  as  if  we  were  our  own  victims. 

It  is,  assuredly,  neither  from  hypocrisy,  nor  from 
dryness  of  character,  that  a  writer  of  real  and  excel- 
lent genius  has  imagined,  in  the  novel  of  Woldemar, 
situations  in  which  every  personage  sacrifices  senti- 
ment by  means  of  sentiment,  and  anxiously  seeks,  a 
reason  for  iiot  loving  v-'hat  he  loves.  But  Jacobi,  who 
had  felt  from  his  youth  a  lively  inclination  tow^ards 
every  species  cf  enthusiasm,  has  here  sought  out  for 
a  romantic  mysteriousness  in  the  attachments  of  the 
heart,  which  is  very  ingeniously  described,  but  is 
quite  foreign  to  nature. 

It  seems  to  me  that  Jacobi  understands  religion  bet- 
ter than,  iove,  for  he  is  too  desirous  of  confounding 
them  It  is  not  true  that  love,  like  religion,  can  find 
cJl  its  happiness  in  the  renunciation  of  happiness  it- 
self. We  change  the  idea  that  we  ought  to  entertain 
cf  virtue,  when  we  make  it  consist  in  a  sort  of  exalted 
feeling  which  has  no  object,  and  in  sacrifices  for  which 
there  is  no  necessity.  All  the  characters  in  Jacobi's 
novel  are  continually  tilting  with  their  generosity 
against  their  love  not  only  is  this  unlike  what  hap- 
pens in  life,  but  it  has  no  moral  beauty  when  virtue 
does  not  require  it ;  for  strong  and  passionate  feelings 
honour  human  nature  ;  and  religion  is  so  impressive 
as  it  is,  precisely  because  it  can  triumph  over  such 
feelings.  Would  it  have  been  necessary  for  God  him» 
self  to  condescend  to  address  the  human  heart,  if  there 
were  only  found  in  that  heart  some  cold  and  graceful 
affections  Vr  hich  it  would  be  so  easy  to  renounce  I 


239 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


Of  a  roniantic  Bias  in  the  Affeciior.i  zj  tl.e  Heart, 


jL  HE  English  philcsc pliers  have  founded  virtue,  as 
we  have  said,  upon  feeling,  or  rather  upon  the  moral 
sense  ;  but  this  system  has  no  connexion  with  the  stU' 
if5?7ze72?fl/ raoi'ality  of  which  we  are  here  talking:  this 
morality  (the  name  and  idea  of  which  hardly  exist  out 
:  of  Germany)  has  nothing  philosophical  about  it ;  it 
only  makes  a  duty  of  sensibility,  and  leads  to  the  con- 
tempt of  those  who  are  deficient  in  tllat  quality. 

Doubtless,  the  power  of  feeling  love  is  very  closely 
connected  with  morality  and  religion  :  it  is  possible 
then  that  our  repugnance  to  cold  and  hard  minds  is  a 
sublime  sort  of  instinct — an  instinct  Vvhich  apprizes 
us,  that  such  beings,  even  when  their  conduct  is  es- 
timable, act  mechanically,  or  by  caiculat'on  ;  and  that 
it  is  impossible  for  any  sympathy  to  exist  between  us 
and  them.    In  Germany,  where  it  is  attempted  to  re- 
duce aii  impressions  into  precepts,-  every  thing  has 
been  deemed  i.nm-oral  which  was  destitute  of  sensi- 
bility— nay,  vvhich  was  not  of  a  romantic  character. 
Werter  had  brought  exalted  senti- -ents  so  much  into 
'  feshion,  that  hardly  any  body  dared  to  show  th^.t  he 
I   was  dry  and  cold  of  nature,  even  when  he  was  con- 
j  deraned  to  such  a  nature  in  reality.    From  thence 
'   arose  that  forced  sort  rf  enthu  iasrn  for  the  moon,  for 
'   forests,  for  the  country,  and  for  solitude  ;  from  tiie nee 
;-   those  nervous  fits,  tha.t  atitctation  in  the  very  voice, 
those  looks  which  wished  to  be  seen  ;  in  a  v.'ord,  all 
I   that  apparatus  of  sensibiiitVj  which  vigorous  and  sui- 
cere  minds  disdain. 

Tlie  author  of  Werter  was  the  first  to  laugh  at 
these  affectations  ;  but,  as  riciicuious  practices  mus^  be 
found  in  aii  countries,  periiapsit  is  betie:  \  .'2'.  icy 
should  consist  in  the  somewhat  siiiy  exa^-jgeiition  of 


PHILOSOFHY  AND  MORALS. 


■what  is  g'ood,  than  in  the  elegant  pretension  to  what  is 
evil.  As  the  desire  of  success  is  unconquerable 
among  men,  and  still  more  so  among  women,  the  pre- 
tensions of  mediocrity  are  a  certain  sign  of  the  ruling 
taste  at  such  an  epoch,  and  in  such  a  society ;  the  same 
persons  who  displayed  their  sevtimentality  in  Germany, 
would  have  elsewhere  exhibited  a  levity  and  supercili- 
ousness of  character. 

The  extrtme  susceptibility  of  the  German  character 
is  one  of  the  great  causes  of  the  importance  they  at- 
tach to  the  least  shades  of  sentiment ;  and  this  suscep- 
tibility frequently  arises  from  the  truth  of  the  affec- 
tions. It  is  easy  to  be  firm  when  vve  have  no  sensi- 
bility :  the  sole  quality  which  is  then  necessary  is 
courage  ;  for  a  well-regulated  severity  must  begin 
with  self : — but,  when  the  proofs  of  interest  in  our 
welfare,  wiiich  others  give  or  refuse  us,  powerfully 
influence  our  happiness,  we  must  have  a  thousand 
times  more  irritability  in  our  hearts  than  those  who  use 
their  friends  as  they  would  an  estate,  and  endeavour 
solely  to  make  them  profitable.  At  the  same  time  we 
ought  to  be  on  our  guard  against  those  codes  of  subtle 
and  many-shaded  sentiment,  which  the  German  writers 
have  multiplied  in  such  various  manners,  and  with 
which  their  romances  are  filled.  The  Germans,  it 
must  be  confessed,  are  not  always  perfectly  natural. 
Certain  of  their  own  uprightness,  of  their  own  sincer- 
ity in  all  the  real  relations  of  life  they  are  tempted  to 
regard  the  affected  love  of  the  beautiful  as  united  to 
the  worship  of  the  good,  and  to  indulge  themselves, 
occasionally,  in  exaggeracions  of  this  sort,  which  spoil 
every  thing. 

Tnis  rivalship  of  sensibility,  between  some  German 
ladies  and  authors,  v.  ouid  at  the  bottom  be  innocent 
enough,  if  the  ridiculous  appearance  which  it  gives  to 
affectation  did  not  always  throw  a  kind  of  discredit 
upon  sinceiity  itseif.  Cold  and  selfish  persons  find  a 
peculiar  pleasure  in  laughing  at  passionate  affections  ; 
and  would  wish  to  make  every  thing  appear  artificial 
which  they  do  not  experience.  There  are  even  pers'-ns 
of  true  sensibility  wliom  this  sugared  sort  of  exsr^gera- 


or  A  ROMANTIC  BIAS, 


241 


,tion  cloys  vvitli  their  own  impressions  ;  and  their  feel- 
ings become  exliausted,  as  we  may  exhaust  their  re- 
ligion, by  tedious  sermons  and  superstitious  practices. 

It  is  wrong  to  apply  the  positive  ideas  which  we 
liave  of  good  and  evil  to  the  subtilties  of  sensibility. 
To  accuse  this  or  that  character  of  their  deficiences  in 
this  respect,  is  like  making  it  a  crime  not  to  be  a  poet. 
The  natural  susceptibility  of  those  who  think  more 
than  t  ley  act,  may  render  them  unjust  to  persons  of  a 
different  description.  We  must  possess  imagination 
to  c  vjjecture  all  that  the  heart  can  make  us  suffer ;  and 
the  ucot  sort  of  people  in  the  v-'oria  are  often  dull  ar  d 
'Stupid  in  this  respect ;  they  march  right  across  our  ieei- 
in>?3-  as  if  tney  were  treading  upon  iiowers,  and  wonder- 
ijig  that  they  fide  away.  Are  there  not  men  who  have  no 
admiration  for  Raph;\r',  who  hear  i-nusic  witnout  Cino- 
tion,  to  wnom  the  ocean  and  the  neavens  are  but  mo= 
notonous  appearances  ?  How  then  should  they  coni= 
prehend  the  tempests  of  the  soul  ? 

A^e  not  even  tiiose  wno  are  most  endowed  wkh  sen- 
sibility sonietimes  discouraged  in  their  hopes  ■  2vlay 
they  noc  be  o  --erconie  by  a  sort  of  inward  coldness,  as 
if  tne  Godaead  was  retiring  from  their  boaonis  ?  They 
remain  not  less  faithful  to  taeir  affections  ;  hut  there  is 
no  more  Incense  in  the  temple,  no  more  music  in  rhe 
sanctuary,  no  more  emotion  in  the  heart.  Oiten  also 
does  misfortune  bid  us  silence  m  ojrselves  this  voice 
of  sentiment,  harmonious  or  distracthig  in  its  tone,  as 
it  agrees,  or  not,  with  our  destiny.  It:  is  then  impos- 
sible to  make  a  duty  of  sensibility';  for  those  who  own 
it  suffer  so  much  from  its  possession,  as  frequently 
to  nave  the  right  and  the  desire  to  subject  it  to  re- 
straint. 

Nations  of  ardent  character  do  not  talk  of  sensibilitv 
without  terror  ;  a  peaceable  and  dreaming  people  be  - 
lieve tiiey  can  encourage  it  vrithcut  alarm.  For  the  rest,, 
it  is  possible,  that  this  subject  has  never  b$en  written 
upon  witn  perfect  sincerity;  for  every  one  wishes  to 
do  hiniseif  honour  by  what  he  feels,  or  by  v;hat  he  in- 
spires. Women  endeavour  to  set  themselves  out  like 
a  romance  :  men  like  a  history:  but  the  hum:.':  h:3,:; 

YOL.  II.  W 


242 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


is  still  far  from  being  penetrated  in  its  most  intimatt^ 
relations.  At  one  time  or  another,  perhaps, somebody 
will  teil  us  sincerely  all  he  has  felt;  and  vv'e  shall  be 
quite  astonished  at  discovering,  that  the  greater  part 
of  maxims  and  observations  are  erroneous,  and  that 
there  is  an  unknown  soul  at  the  bottom  of  that  which 
we  have  been  describing. 


OF  LO^,^  IN  ^L\REiAGE. 


24i 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Love  in  Marriage. 


It  15  in  marriage  that  sensibility  is  a  duty  :  in  every 
OLher  relation  virtue  may  suffice  ;  but  in  that  in  vvhicn 
destinies  are  intertv/ined,  ^here  the  same  impulse,  so 
to  speak,  serves  lyc  the  bca.ings  of  two  hearts,  it 
seems  that  a  profound  affecnorj  is  almost  a  necessary 
tie  The  levitv  cf  manaers  has  in'iroduced  so  much 
misery  into  married  life,  that  the  moralists  of  the  last 
;  age  were  accustomed  to  refer  all  the  enjoyments  of 
the  heart  to  paternal  and  maternal  love  ;  and  ended  by 
almost  considering  marriage  only  in  t.:e  light  of  a  re- 
quisite coz fc?  e- 'eying  the  happkiess  of  having 
children.  T.::-  f:.':;  morals,  and  still  more  false 
"witn  regard  to  happiness. 

It  is  so  easy  to  be  gooii  tor  the  sake  ot  our  children^ 
that  we  ought  not  to  make  a  great  merir  of  it.  In  their 
first  years  they  can  have  no  will  but  tivat  cf  their  parents  ; 
and  v\hen  they  nave  arrived  at  youth,  they  exist  by 
themselves.  Justice  and  goodness  compose  the  prin- 
cipal duties  of  a  relation  v.- nich  nature  makes  easy.  It 
is  not  thus  in  our  connexions  vlth  that  half  of  our- 
selves- who  may  find  hapoiness  or  unhappiness  in  the 
least  of  our  actions,  of  our  looks,  and  of  our  thoughts i 
I:  is  there  alone  that  morality  can  exert  itself  in  its 
complete  energy;  it  is  there  also  that  is  placed  the 
true  source  of  feiicity. 

A  friend  of  the  sanre  age,  in  whose  presence  ycU 
are  *.o  live  and  die  ;  a  friend  whose  every  interest  is 
your  own;  all  whose  prospects  are  partaken  by  your- 
self, including  that  of  the  grave  :  here  is  a  feeling 
'wnich  constitutes  all  our  fate.  Sometimes,  it  is  true, 
our  children,  and  more  often  our  parents,  become  our 
I  companions  through  life ;  but  this  rare  and  sublime 
^  oniovment  is  combated  bv  the  laws  of  nature ;  while 

1 " 


244 


PmOSOPHY  ANT)  MORALS. 


the  marriag-e-union  is  in  accord  with  the  whole  of  hxi^ 
man  existence. 

Whence  comes  it,  then,  that  this  so  holy  union  is  so 
often  profaned  ?  I  will  venture  to  say  it — the  cause  is, 
that  remarkable  inequality  which  the  opinion  of  society 
establishes  between  the  duties  of  the  two  parties. 
Christianity  has  drawn  women  out  of  a  state  that  re- 
sembled slavery.  Equality,  in  the  sight  of  God,  be- 
ing the  basis  of  this  wonderful  religion,  it  has  a  ten- 
dency towards  maintaining  the  equality  of  rights  upon 
earth  : — divine  justice,  the  only  perfect  justice,  admits 
jio  kind  of  privilege,  and,  above  ail,  refuses  that  of 
force.  Nevertheless,  there  have  been  left,  by  the 
slavery  of  women,  some  prejudicies,  which,  combin- 
ing with  the  great  liberty  that  society  allows  them, 
liave  occasioned  many  evils. 

It  is  right  to  exclude  women  from  political  and  civil 
affairs;  nothing  is  more  opposite  to  their  natural  des- 
tination than  ail  that  wouki  bring  them  into  rivalry  with 
men ;  and  glory  itself  would  be  for  Avoman  only  a 
splendid  mourning-suit  for  happiness.  But,  if  the 
•idestiny  of  women  ought  to  coniiistin  a  continual  act  of 
ilevotionto  conjugal  love,  the  recompense  of  this  de- 
motion is  the  strict  faithfulness  of  him  who  is  its  object. 

Religion  makes  no  distinction  between  the  duties  of 
the  two  parties  ;  but  the  work!  establishes  a  wide  dif- 
ference ;  and  out  of  this  difference  grows  intrigue  in 
women,  and  resentment  in  men. 

"  What  heart  can  give  itself  entirely  up, 
"  Nor  wish  another  heart  alike  entire 

Who  then  in  good  faith,  accepts  friendship  as  the 
price  of  love?  Who,  sincerely,  promises  constancy  to 
voluntary  infidelity  ?  Religion,  without  doubt,  can  de- 
mand it;  for  she  alone  knows  the  secret  of  that  mys- 
terious land  where  sacrifices  •  are  enjoyments  :— but 
how  unjust  is  the  exchange  to  which  man  endeavours 
to  mako  his  companion  submit ! 

"  I  will  love  you,"  he  says,  "  passionately,  for  two 
or  three  years  ;  and  then,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  I 


Of  LOVE  IX  ruARlllAGE. 


245 


••■  v,iH  talk  reason  to  you."  And  this,  which  they  call 
reason,  is  the  disenchantment  of  life.  I  ho^v^ 
«m  my  own  house,  coldness  and  wcsri  ^  of 

"  sph'it ;  I  will  try  to  please  elsewhere  :  b  ;     :      -  ho 
are  ordinarily  possessed  of  more  im?.:, :  and 
sensibilitv  than  I  am  ;  you,  who  have  no:  .in^  lo  eni- 
"  ploy,  nor  to  distract  you,  while  the  world  oficrs  me 
every  sort  of  avocation  ;  you,  who  only  exist  for 
"  me,  v\-hile  I  have  a  thousand  other  thoughts  ;  you 
will  be  satisfied  with  that  subordinate,  icy,  divided 
affection,  ^vhich  it  is  convenient  to  me  lo  ^;rani  y  'U  ; 
-•and  vuu  -.vi;:  r .-  ^  ■  c :  v  ::h  diiclaln  all  the  ho.r.ags 
whi:h  e:-:-:'i-ei  =  -j-  nicr:  ez;^lted  and  more  tender  sen- 
'■'  timents/" 

How  unjust  a  treaty  :  all  human  feeling  revoKs  froni 
it.  There  is  a  singular  contrast  b:-tv  eon  -zhe  forms  of 
respect  towards  women,  which  the  spirit  of  chivalry 
intrcdu:ed  in  Europe,  and  the  tyrannical  sort  of  liber- 
ty which  men  have  aliotted  to  themselves.  This  con= 
trast  produces  all  the  misfortunes  of  sentiment,  un- 


lawfu'  m :':itv:nt5.  pc  b-/".  t.bandonnient=  aiid  despair. 
The  G  ...  -"A  j.:s  L:.  :c  been  less  allUcted  ti:.in  oth- 
ers v.-itn  ti  .i  events  but  they  ou^j-ht,  upon  tliis 
poi;n.  tof-  :,_  .  .j  inauence  which  is  sure  to  be  exer- 
■:cb  b;;:  _:b  jy  modern  civilization.  It  woiddbe  bet- 
tvr  t:            ttp  women  like  slaves  ;  neither  to  rouse 

their   ■  - .  .ndincj  nor  their  imagdnation.  th:.n  to 

launch  cnem.  into  the  middle  of  the  world,  and  to  de- 


velope  ail  their  faculties,  in  order  to  refuse  tnem  at 
last  tne  happiness  vrnich  these  faculties  render  neces- 
sary to  them. 

Tnere  is  an  excess  of  wretchedness  in  an  unhappy 
marriage  which  transcends  every  .  ther  misery  in  the 
world.  The  vrhole  soul  of  a  wife  reposes  upon  the 
attachment'of  her  husband  : — to  strug^ie  alone,  against 
fortune;  to  advance  towards  the  grave  without  the 
friend  who  should  regret  us;  this  is  an  isolated  state, 
of  wnich  the  Arabian  desert  gives  but  a  faint  idea  : — ■ 
and,  when  ail  the  treasure  of  your  youthful  years  has 
ieen  resigned  in  vam  ;  when  you  iiope  no  longer,  at 
tlie  end  of  life,  the  reflection  of  taoss  e?.riy  ravs]  v.dreD 


'2i6' 


PRFLOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


the  twilig^ht  has  nothing  more  that  can  recall  the  dawn, 
but  is  pale  and  discoloured  as  the  phantom  that  fore- 
runs the  nii^ht:— then  your  heart  revolts  ;  and  if  you 
still  love  the  being  who  treats  you  as  a  slave,  since 
he  does  not  belong  to  yon,  and  yet  disposes  of  you, 
despair  seizes  all  your  faculties,  and  conscience  her- 
self grows  troubled  ai  the  intensity  of  your  dis- 
tress. 

Women  might  address  those  husbands  who  treat 
their  fate  with  levity  in  these  lines  of  the  fable  : — ■ 

"  Yes  !  for  you  it  is  but  play— 
"  But  it  steals  our  lives  away." 

And  until  some  revolution  of  ideas  shall  take  place j 
-which  chaiiges  the  opinion  of  men  as  to  the  constancy 
svhich  the  rnarriage-tie  imposes  upon  them,  there 
T^'ill  be  always  war  between  the  two  sexes;  secret, 
eternal,  cunning,  perfidious  war  j  and  the  morals  of 
both  will  equally  suffer  by  it. 

In  Germany  there  is  hardly  any  inequality  in  mar- 
riage betu'een  the  two  sexes  ;  but  it  is  because  the 
'women,  as  often  as  the  men,  break  the  most  holy 
bonds.  The  facility  of  divorce  introduces  in  family 
connexions  a  sort  of  anarchy  which  suffers  nothing  to 
leraain  in  its  proper  truth  or  strength.  It  v/ould  be 
much  better,  in  order  to  maintain  something  sacred 
mpon  eartn,  that  there  were  one  slave  in  marriagCj. 
rather  than  two  free-thinkers. 

Purity  of  mind  and  conduct  is  the  first  glory  of  a 
woman.  What  a  degraded  behig  would  she  be,  de- 
prived of  both  these  qualities  !  But  general  happi* 
iiess,  and  the  dignity  of  the  human  species,  would 
perhaps  not  gain  less  by  the  iidelity  of  man  in  mar- 
I'iage.  In  a  word,  what  is  there  more  Beautiful  in 
moral  order  tlian  a  young  m,an  wlio  respects  this  sa- 
cred tie  ?  Opinion  does  not  require  it  of  him  ;  socie- 
ty leaves  him  free  :  a  sort  of  savage  pleasantry  would 
endeavour  to  riciicule  even  the  complaints  of  the  heart 
-which  he  had  broken,;  for  crisUiC  is  easily  turned 
the  suSersr.    B-^  then  is  the  master^  but  he  im? 


OF  LOVE  IN  MARRIAGE. 


poses  duties  on  himself ;  no  disagreeable  result  can 
arise  to  himself  from  his  faults  ;  but  he  dreads  the  evil 
he  may  do  to  her  who  has  intrusted  herself  to  his  heart ; 
and  generosity  attaches  him  so  much  the  more,  be- 
cause society  dissolves  his  attachment. 

Fidelity  is  enjoined  to  women  by  a  thousand  differ- 
ent considerations.  They  may  dread  the  dangers  and 
the  disgraces  which  are  the  inevitable  consequences  of 
one  error.  The  voice  of  conscience  alone  is  audible 
by  man  ;  he  knows  he  causes  suffering  to  another  ;  he 
knows  that  he  is  destroying,  by  his  inconstancy,  a  sen- 
timent which  ought  to  last  till  death,  and  to  be  re- 
newed in  heaven  : — =alone  with  himself,  alone  in  the 
midst  of  seductions  of  every  kind,  he  remains  pure  as 
an  angel  ;  for  if  angels  have  not  been  represented  un- 
der the  characters  of  women,  it  is  because  the  union  of 
strength'and  purity  is  more  beautiful,  and  also  more 
celestial,  than  even  the  most  perfect  modesty  itself  in 
a  feeble  being. 

Imagination,  v/hen  it  has  not  memory  for  a  bridle,  de- 
tracts from  what  v/e  possess,  embellishes  what  we  fear 
we  shall  not  obtain,  and  turns  sentiment  into  a  con= 
quered  diifxuity.  But,  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the 
arts,  diftlculties  vanquished  do  not  require  real  gen- 
ius ;  so  in  sentiment  security  is  necessary,  in  order  to 
experience  those  affocticns  which  are  the  pledges  of 
eternity,  because  they  alone  give  us  an  idea  of  that 
which  cpjinot  come  to  an  end. 

To  the  young  man  who  remains  faithful,  every  day 
seems  to  increase  the  preference  he  feels  towards  her 
he  loves;  nature  has  bestowed  on  him  unbounded 
fi^eedom,  and  for  a  long  time,  at  least,  he  never  looks 
forward  to  evil  days :  his  horse  can  carry  him  to  the 
end  of  the  world ;  war,  when  to  that  he  devotes  him- 
self, frees  him  (at  least  at  the  moment)  from  domes- 
tic relations,  and  seems  to  reduce  all  the  interest  of 
existence  to  victory  or  death.  The  earth  is  his  own^ 
-  bII  its  pleasures  are  offered  to  him  ;  no  fatigue  intimi- 
dates him,  no  intimate  association  is  necessary  to  him  j 
he  clasps  the  hand  of  a  companion  in  arms,  and  the 
i  only  tie  he  thinks  necessary  to  him  is  formed.   A  time 


MB 


PHiLOSOPHY  AND  .^fOEALS. 


will,  no  doubt,  arrive  when  destiny  v/ill  reveal  to  hiiTi 
her  dreadful  secrets;  but,  as  yet,  he  suspects  them 
not.  Every  time  that  a  new  generation  comes  into 
possession  of  its  domain,  does  it  not  think  that  all  the 
misfortunes  of  its  predecessors  arose  from  their  weak- 
Jiess  ?  Is  it  not  persuaded  that  they  were  born  weak  and 
trembling,  as  they  now  are  seen  ?  Well  1  From  the 
midst  of  so  many  illusions,  how  virtuous  and  sensible 
is  he  who  devotes  himself  to  a  lasting-  attachment ;  the 
tie  which  binds  this  life  to  the  other  I  Ah,  how  noble 
is  a  manly  and  dignified  expression,  when,  at  the  same 
time,  it  is  modest  and  pure  1  There  we  behold  a  ray 
of  that  heavenly  shame  which  beams  from  the  crown 
of  holy  virgins,  to  light  up  even  the  warrior's  brow. 

If  a  young  man  chooses  to  share  with  one  object  the 
bright  days  of  youth,  he  will,  doubtless,  amongst  his 
contemporaries,  meet  with  some  who  will  pronounce 
the  sentence  of  dupery  upon  him,  the  terror  of  the 
children  of  our  times.  But  is  he,  who  alone  will  be 
truly  loved,  a  dupe  ?  for  the  distresses,  or  the  enjoy- 
ments of  self-love,  form  the  whole  tissue  of  the  frivo- 
lous and  deceitful  affections.  Is  he  a  dupe  who  does 
not  amuse  himself  in  deceiving  others  ?  to  be,  in  his 
turn,  still  more  deceived,  more  deeply  ruined  perhaps 
than  his  victim  ?  In  short,  is  he  a  dupe  who  has  not 
sought  for  happiness  in  the  wretched  combinations 
of  vanity,  but  in  the  eternal  beauties  of  nature,  which 
all  proceed  from  constancy,  from  duration,  and  from 
depth  ? 

No ;  God,  in  creating  man  the  first,  has  made  him 
the  noblest  of  his  creatures;  and  the  most  noble  crea- 
ture is  that  one  which  has  the  greater  number  of  du- 
ties to  perform.  It  is  a  singular  abuse  of  the  prerog- 
ative of  a  superior  nature  to  make  it  serve  as  an  in- 
strument to  free  itself  from  the  most  sacred  ties, 
whereas  true  superiority  consists  in  the  power  of  th^ 
soul ;  and  the  power  of  the  soul  is  virtue. 


MODERN  milTERS,  &.€:. 


249 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Modern  TV  liters  of  the  ancient  School  m  Germany. 


EFORE  the  new  school  had  -^iven  birth  in  Germa- 
ny to  two  inciinations,  which  seem  to  exclude  each 
other,  metaphysics  and  poetry,  scientific  method  and 
enthusiasm,  there  Vv^ere  soiTse  writers  who  deserved 
an  honourable  place  by  the  side  of  the  English  moral- 
ists. Mendelsohn,  Garve,  Suizer,  Engel,  &c,  have 
written  upon  sentiments  and  duties  with  sensibiUty,  re- 
ligion, and  candour.  We  do  not,  in  their  works,  meet 
with  that  ingenious  knowledge  of  the  world,  \vhich 
characterizes  the  French  authors,  La  Rochefoucaulf, 
La  Bruyere,  &c.  German  moralists  paint  society  with 
a  certain  degree  of  ignorance  which  is  interesting  at 
first,  but  at  last  becomes  monotonous. 

Garve  is  the  writer,  of  all  others,  v/ho  has  attached 
the  highest  importance  to  speaking  well  of  good  com- 
pany, fashion,  politeness,  &c.  There  is,  throughout 
his  manner  of  expressing  him.self  on  this  head,  a 
great  desire  to  appear  a  man.  cf  the  w-orldj  to  know  the 
reason  of  every  thing,  to  be  knov.'ing  like  a  French- 
man, and  to  judge  favourably  of  the  court  and  of  the 
town  ;  but  the  common-place  ideas  which  he  displays 
in  his  writings  on  these  different  subjects  prove,  that 
he  knows  nothing  but  by  hearsay,  and  has  never  taken 
those  refined  and  delicate  views  which  the  relations  of 
society  afford. 

Vvhen  Garve  speaks  of  virtue,  he  shows  a  pure  un» 
derstanding  and  a  tranquil  mind  :  he  is  particularly  en- 
gaging, and  original,  in  his  treatise  on  Patience.  Borne 
down  by  a  cruel  malady,  he  supported  it  wiih  admira- 
ble fortitude  ;  and  whatever  we  have  felt  ourselves  in- 
spires nev/  ideas. 

Mendelsohn,  a  Jew  by  birth,  devoted  himself,  from 
commerce,  to  the  study  of  the  fine  arts,  and  of  phi- 


250 


PHrLOSOFHY  AND  MORALS. 


losophy,  without  renouncing,  in  the  smallest  degrecj. 
either  the  belief  or  the  rites  of  his  religion  ;  and  being 
a  sincere  admirer  of  the  Phsedon,  of  which  he  was  the 
translator,  he  retained  the  ideas  and  the  sentiments 
which  were  the  precursors  of  Jesus  Christ;  and,  edu- 
cated in  the  Psalms  and  in  the  Bible,  his  writings  pre- 
serve the  character  of  Hebrew  simplicity.  He  de- 
lighted in  making  morality  perceptible,  by  parables  in 
the  eastern  style  ;  and  iLat  style  is  certainly  the  more 
pleasing,  as  it  deprives  precepts  of  the  tone  of  re- 
proach. 

Among  these  fables,  I  shall  translate  one,  which 
appears  to  me  reroarkable  : — "  Under  the  tyrannical 
"  government  of  the  Greeks,  the  Israelites  were  once 
"  forbidden,  under  pain  of  death,  to  read  amongst 
"  themselves  the  divine  laws.    Rabbi  Akiba,  notwith- 
"  standing  this  prohibition,  held  assemblies,  where 
^'  he  gave  lectures  on  this  law.    Pappus  heard  of  it. 
"  and  said  to  him,  «  Akiba,  dost  thou  not  fear  the 
threats  of  these  cruel  men?*-—'  I  will  relate  thee  a 
fable/  replied  the  Rabbi.— -A  Fox  was  walking  on 
the  bank  of  a  river,  and  saw  the  Fishes  collect- 
ing  together,  in  terror,  at  the  bottom  of  the  rivero 
"'What  cauces  your  alarm?'  said  the  Fox. — 'The 
*  children  of  men/  replied  the  Fishes,  '  are  throwing 
"  their  lines  into  the  river,  to  catch  us,  and  v/e  are 
"  trying  to  escape  from  them.'-r—'  Do  you  know  what 
"  you  ought  to  do?'  said  the  Fox.    '  Go  there,  upon 
«  the  rock,  where  men  cannot  reach  you.'- — '  Is  it  pos= 
"  sible,'  cried  the  Fishes,  '  that  thou  canst  be  the  Fox, 
^'  esteemed  the  most  cunnhig  amongst  anim.als  ?  If 
<^  thou  seriously  givest  us  this  advice,  thou  showest 
thyself  the  most  ignorant  of  them  all.    The  v/ater 
*'  is  to  us  the  element  of  ilie  ;  and  is  it  possible  for  us 
''  to  give  it  up  because  we  are  threatened  by  dan- 
*'  gers  ;' — '  Pappus,  the  application  of  this  fable  is 
easy:  reiigious  doctrine  is  to  us  the  source  of  all 
&i  good  ;  by  that,  and  for  that  alone,  we  exist ;  if  we 
are  pursued  into  that  refuge,  we  vv'ill  nut  withdraw 
^»  ourselves  from  danger,  by  seeking  shelter  in  death.'  '* 
.  The  greater  part  of  the  world  give  no  better  advice 


MQDEPvN  WRITERS,  kc. 


251 


tlian  the  fox  :  when  they  see  persons  of  sensibility  agi» 
tated  by  heart-aches,  they  alway-  propose  to  them  to 
quit  the  air  where  the  storm  is,  to  enter  into  the  va- 
cuum which  destroys  jife. 

Engel,  like  Mendelsohn,  teaches  morality  in  a  dra- 
[  niatic  manner:  his  fictions  are  trifiin?^-;  but  t'ley  bear 
!  an  intimate  relation  to  the  mind.    In  one  of  them  he 
!  represents  an  old  man  become  mad  by  the  ineratitude 
I  of  his  son;  and  the  okl  mair's  smile,  while  his  misfor- 
tune is  being  related,  is  paiiited  with  heart-rending 
truth.    The  man  who  is  no  longer  conscious  of  his 
own  existence,  is  as  frightful  an  object  as  a  corpse 
^valking  without  life.    "  It  is  a  tree,"  says  Engel,  "  the 
"  branches  of  which  are  withered  ;  its  roots  are  still 
"  fixedfein  the  earth,  but  its  top  is  already  seized  upon 
"  by  death.''    A  young  man,  at  the  sight  of  this  unfor- 
tunate creature,  asks  his  father,  if  there  is  on  earth  a 
:  destiny  more  dreadful  tlian  that  of  this  poor  maniac  . 
i  All  the  sufferings  \7hich  destroy,  all  tl:ose  ot  which 
;  our  reason  is  v/itness,  seem  to  him  notising  when  com- 
pared with  this  deplorable  self-igi  orance.    The  fatner 
leaves  his  son  to  unfold  all  the  horrors  of  the  situation 
before  him;  and  then  suddenly  asks  him,  if  that  of  the 
wretch  v/ho  has  been  the  cause  of  it,  is  not  a  thousand 
times  more  dreadful  ?   The  gradation  of  tiie  ideas  is 
very  well  kept  up  in  this  recital,  and  the  picture  of 
the  agonies  of  tr^e  mind  is  represented  with  eioouer  ce 
that  redoubles  the  terror  caused  by  the  most  dreadful 
of  all  remorse. 

I  have  in  another  place  quoted  a  passage  from  the 
Messiah,  in  which  the  poet  supposes,  that,  in  a  distant 
planet,  where  the  inhabitants  are  immortal,  an  angel 
arrived  with  intelligence,  that  there  existed  a  v.  o^i  id 
where  human  beings  were  subject  to  death.  Klop- 
stock  draws  an  admirable  picture  of  the  astonishment 
of  those  beings  who  knew  not  the  grief  of  losing  those 
they  loved.  Engei  ingeniously  displays  an  idea  not 
less  striking. 

^  A  man  has  seen  all  he  held  most  dear,  his  wife  and 
his  daughter,  perish.  A  sentiment  of  bitterness  arid 
of  revolt  against  Providence  takes  possession  of  him  : 


252 


PHE^OSOFHY  AND  MORALS. 


an  old  friend  endeavours  to  re-open  his  heart  to  that 
deep  but  resigned  grief,  Vvhich  pours  itself  out  on  the 
bosom  of  God  ;  he  shows  him  that  death  is  the  source 
of  all  the  moral  enjoyments  of  man. 

Would  there  be  affection  betvv'een  parent  and  child 
if  mail's  existence  was  not  at  once  lasting  and  transito- 
ry ;  fixed  by  sentiment,  hurried  away  by  time  ?  If  there 
"was  no  longer  any  decline  in  the  world,  there  would  be 
jio  longer  any  progress:  how  then  should  we  experience 
fear  and  hope  ?  lit  short,  in  every  action,  in  every  sen- 
timent, in  every  thought,  death  has  its  share.  '  And 
not  only  in  reality,  but  in  imagination  also,  the  joys 
and  sorrows  which  arise  from  tiie  instability  of  life, 
are  inseparable.  Existence  Cvonsists  entirely  in  those 
sentifiients  of  confidence,  and  of  anxiety,  with  which 
the  soul  is  filled,  wandering  between  heaven  and  earth, 
and  death  is  the  principal  cause  of  our  actions  in  life. 

A  woman,  alarmed  at  the  storms  of  the  South,  wish- 
ed to  remove  to  the  frigid  zone,  where  thunder  is  not 
beard,  nor  iightning  seen  :— -our  complaints  against  cur 
lots  arc  much  of  the  same  sort,  says  Engel..  In  fact, 
iiaturc  must  be  disenchanted,  if  ail  its  dangers  are  to  be 
removed.  The  charm  of  the  world  seems  to  belong 
to  pain  as  rr.uch  as  to  pleasure,  to  fear  as  much  as  to 
hope  ;  and  it  may  be  said,  that  human  destiny  is  ordered 
like  a  drama,  in  which  terror  and  pity  are  necessary. 

Undc>ubtedly,  these  thoughts  are  not  sufficient  to 
heai  up  tlie  wounds  of  the  heart  :  whatever  we  feel  we 
consicier  as  the  overturning  of  nature,  and  no  one  ever 
suffered  without  thinking  that  a  great  disorder  existed 
in  the  universe.  But,  when  a  long  space  of  time  has 
given  room  for  reflection,  repose  is  found  in  general 
considerations,  and  we  unite  ourselves  to  the  laws  of 
the  universe  by  detacidng  ourselves  from  ourbeives. 

The  German  moralists  of  the  ancient  school  are,  for 
the  most  part,  religious  and  feeling ;  their  theory  of 
virtue  is  disinterested  ;  they  do  not  admit  that  doctrine 
of  utility,  which  would  lead  us,  as  it  does  in  China,  to 
throw  children  into  the  river,  if  the  population  be- 
came too  numerous.  Theii  works  are  fiiieci  with  phi- 
losophical ideas,  and  with  melancholy  and  tender  af~ 


253 


fections  ;  bat  this  was  net  enough  to  struggle  against 
the  selfish  morality  armed  with  its  sarcastic  irony  This 
■was  not  enough  to  refute  sophisms,  which  were  used 
against  the  truest  and  the  best  principles.  The  soft, 
2.nd  sometimes  even  timid,  sensibility  of  the  ancient 
German  moralists  was  not  sufficient  to  combat,  with 
success,  an  adroit  system  of  logic,  and  an  elegant  style 
of  raillery,  which,  like  all  bad  sentiments,  bowed  to 
notning  but  force.  ]SIore  pointed  weapons  are  neces- 
sary to  oppose  those  arms  which  the  world  has  forged  : 
it  is  therefore  vrith  reason  that  the  philosophers  of  tlie 
new  school  have  thought  that  a  more  severe  doctrine 
was  requisite,  a  doctrine  of  more  energy,  and  closer 
in  its  arguments,  in  order  to  triumph  over  the  de  = 
pravity  of  the  age. 

Assuredly,  all  that  is  simple  Is  sufficient  for  all  that 
is  good  ;  but  when  we  live  at  a  time  in  which  it  has 
been  attempted  to  range  wit  on  the  side  of  immorality, 
it  is  necessary  to  attempt  to  gain  over  genius  as  the 
defender  of  virtue.  Doubtless  it  is  a  matter  of  much 
indiffijrence  waether  we  are  accused  of  silliness,  when 
Y."e  express  what  we  feel  ;  but  this  word  silliness  caus- 
es so  mucn  alarm  among  understandings  of  medioc- 
rity, that  we  ought,  if  possible,  to  preserve  them 
from  its  infection. 

The  Germans,  fearing  that  we  may  turn  their  integrity 
'0  ridicule,  sometimes  attempt,  although  much  against 
tiicir  natural  disposi  iorj;  to  take  a  Eight  tovrards  im- 
morality, that  they  r:.;y  acquire  a  briKia:n  and  easy 
air.  The  new  philcsopners,  by  eicVvVdng  their  style 
and  their  ideas  to  a  great  height,  have  skilfully  flatter- 
ed tne  seif-love  of  their  adepts  ;  and  v,e  ou;i.ht  to 
praise  them  for  this  innocent  species  of  art ;  for  the 
Germ.ans  have  need  of  a  sentiment  of  superiority 
over  others  to  strengthen  their  minds.  There  is  too 
much  milk  of  human  kindness  in  their  character,  as 
weii  as  in  their  understanding;  They  are  perhaps  the 
only  men  lo  whom  we  could  recoi.iraend  pride,  as  the 
means  of  moral  improvement.  We  cannot  deny  the 
fact,  that  the  disciples  of  the  new  school  have  followed 
this  acivice  to  rs.ther  too  great  a  length  ;  but  thev  are, 

VOL.  II,  X 


254 


PIULOSOPHY  AND  ^lORALS. 


nevertheless,  the  most  enlightened  and  the  most  cour- 
ageous authors  of  their  country. 

What  discovery  have  they  made  ?  it  will  be  asked. 
No  doubt,  what  was  true  in  m.orals  two  thousand 
years  ago,  is  true  at  the  present  moment ;  but,  dur- 
ing this  period,  the  arguments  of  meanness  and  cor- 
ruption have  been  multiplied  to  such  an  excess,  that 
a  philosopher  of  good  feeling  ought  to  proportion  his 
efforts  to  this  fatal  progress.  Common  ideas  cannot 
struggle  against  a  systematic  immorality  ;  v/e  must  dig 
deeper  inwards,  when  the  exterior  veins  of  the  pre- 
cious metals  are  exhausted.  We  have  so  often  seen, 
in  our  days,  weakness  united  to  a  large  proportion  of 
virtue,  that  we  have  been  accustomed  to  believe  iji 
the  energy  of  immorality.  The  German  philoso- 
phers (and  let  them  receive  the  glory  of  the  deed) 
have  been  the  first  in  the  eighteenth  century,  who  have 
ranged  free-thinking  on  the  side  of  faith,  genius  on 
the  side  of  rooralitv,  and  character  on  the  side  of  dutv. 


IGNORANCE  AND  FRIVOLITY  OF  SPIRIT.  255 


CHAPTER  XXL 

C{f  Ig'noraJice  a7id  Frivolif  y  of  Sfiirit  in  their  Relations 
to  Morals. 


Ignorance,  such  as  it  appeared  some  ages  past, 
respected  knowledge,  and  was  desirous  of  attaining;  it. 
The  ignorance  of  our  days  is  contemptuous,  and  en» 
deavours  to  turn  into  ridicule  the  labours  and  the  med- 
itations of  enlightened  men.  The  philosophical  spirit 
has  spread  over  almost  all  classes  a  facility  of  reason- 
ing, which  is  used  to  depreciate  every  thing  that  is 
great  and  serious  in  human  nature,  and  we  are  at  that 
epoch  of  civilization,  in  which  all  the  beauties  of  the 
soul  are  mouldering  into  dust. 

When  the  barbarians  of  the  North  seizsd  upon  the 
possession  of  the  most  fertile  countries  in  Europe^ 
they  brought  with  them  some  fierce  and  manly  virtues  ; 
and  in  their  endeavours  at  self-improvement,  they  ask- 
ed from  the  South,  her  sun,  and  her  arts  and  sciences. 
But  our  civilized  barbarians  esteera  nothing  except 
address  in  the  management  of  worldly  affdirs  ;  and  on- 
ly instruct  themselves  just  enough  to  ridicule,  by  a. 
lev/  set  phrases,  the  meditations  of  a  v/hole  life. 

Those  v/ho  deny  the  perfectibility  of  the  human  un- 
derstanding, pretend  that  progression  and  decline  fol- 
low each  other  by  turns,  and  that  the  wheel  of  thought 
rolls  round  like  that  of  fortune.  What  a  sad  spectacle 
is  this  I  the  generations  of  men  employir^-  themselves 
upon  earth,  like  Sisyphus  in  heii,  in  constant  and  use- 
less labour  !  and  vvhat  v^^ould  then  be  the  destiny  of  the 
human  race,  when  it  resembled  the, most  cruel  punish- 
ment whieh  the  imagination  of  poetry  has  conceived? 
But  it  is  not  thus  ;  and  we  can  perceive  a  destiny  al- 
ways the  same,  always  consequential,  always  progreg- 
sive  in  the  history  of  man. 

The  contest  between  the  interests  of  this  world  siud 


25a 


PHILOSOPHY  AXB  MORALS. 


piore  elevated  sentiments  has  existed,  at  every  perioel, 
in  nations  as  well  as  in  individuals.  Superstition  some- 
times drives  the  enlightened  into  the  opposite  party  of 
incredulity;  and  sometimes,  on  the  contrary,  know- 
ledge itself  awakens  every  belief  of  the  heart.  At  the 
present  sera,  philosophers  take  refuge  in  religion,  in 
order  to  discover  the  source  of  high  conceptions,  and 
of  disinterested  sentiments  ;  at  this  aera,  prepared  by 
ages,  the  alliance  between  philosophy  and  religion 
iTiay  be  intimate  and  sincere.  The  ignorant  are  not, 
as  formerly,  the  enemies  of  doubt,  and  determined  to 
reject  all  the  false  lights  which  might  disturb  their  re- 
iigicus  hopes,  and  their  chivalrous  seif-devotion  ;  the 
ignorant  of  our  days  are  incredulous,  frivolous,  super- 
iiciai ;  they  know  all  that  selfishness  has  need  to  know  ; 
and  their  ignorance  is  only  extended  to  those  sublime 
studies,  which  excite  in  the  soul  a  feeling  of  admira- 
tion for  nature  and  for  the  Deity. 

Warlike  occupations  formerly  filled  up  the  life 
of  the  nobility,  and  formed  their  minds  for  action  ;  but 
since,  in  our  days,  men  of  the  first  rank  have  ceased 
to  study  any  science  profoundly,  all  the  activity  of  their 
genius,  which  ought  to  have  been  employed  in  the  cir- 
cle of  affairs,  or  in  intellectual  labours,  is  directed  to 
the  observation  of  manners,  and  to  the  knowledge  of 
anecdotes. 

Young  persons,  just  come  from  school,  hasten  to 
put  on  idleness  as  soon  as  the  manly  robe  :  men  and 
"^vomeo  act  as  spies  upon  each  other  in  the  minutest 
events,  not  exactly  from  maliciousness,  but  in  order 
that  they  may  have  something  to  say,  when  they  have 
nothing  to  employ  their  thoughts.  This  sort  of  daily 
censoriousnegs  destroys  good-nature  and  integrity. 
We  are  not  satisfied  with  ourselves  v/hen  we  abuse  the 
hospitality  which  we  exercise  or  receive,  by  criticising 
those  with  whom  v/e  live  ;  and  we  thus  prevent^  the 
grovv'th  and  the  continuance  of  all  sincere  aiiection  ; 
for  in  listening  to  the  ridicule  of  those  who  are  dear  to 
us,  we  tarnish  all  that  is  pure  and  exalted  in  that  affec- 
tion :  sentiments,  in  which  we  do  not  maintain  perfect 
sinceriivj  do  more  mischief  than  indifference. 


IGNORANCE  AND  FHIVOLiTY  OP  ^miT.  257 


Every  one  has  his  ridiculous  side  ;  it  is  only  at  a  dis- 
tance that  a  character  appears  perfect ;  but  that  which 
constitutes  the  individuality  of  each  person  beinf^  al- 
ways some  sin^'ularity,  this  sino^ularity  affords  an  open- 
ing^ to  ridicule  :  man,  therefore,  who  fears  ridicule 
above  every  thing,  endeavours,  as  much  as  possible, 
to  remove  the  appearance  of  all  that  may  sig-nalize 
him  in  any  manner,  whether  it  be  good  or  bad.  This 
sort  of  effaced  nature,  in  however  good  taste  it  may 
seem  to  be,  has  also  enough  of  the  ridiculous  about  it ; 
but  few  have  a  sufiicipntly  delicate  tact  to  seize  its  ab" 
surdities. 

Ridicule  has  this  peculiarity  ;  it  is  essentially  attach- 
ed to  goodness,  but  not  to  power.  Power  has  some- 
thing fierce  and  triumphant  about  it,  which  puts  ridi» 
cule  to  death  ; — besides,  the  men  of  frivolous  mind 
respect  the  ivisdom  of  the  Jlesk^  according  to  the  ex- 
pression of  a  moralist  of  the  sixteenth  century;  and 
we  are  astonished  to  discover  all  the  depth  of  personal 
interest  in  those  v^-ho  appeared  incapable  cf  pursuing 
an  idea,  or  a  feeling,  when  nothing  could  result  from 
either,  advantageous  to  their  calculations  of  fortune, 
or  of  vanity. 

Frivolity  of  understanding  does  not  lead  men  to  neg° 
lect  the  affairs  of  this  v/orld.'  We  find,  on  the  contra- 
ry, a  much  mo'-e  noble  carelessness,  in  this  respect,  in 
serious  characters  than  in  men  of  a  trivial  nature  ;  for 
their  levity,  in  most  cases,  only  consists  in  the  con* 
tempt  of  general  ideas,  for  the  purpose  of  more  ciose 
attention  to  their  personal  concerns. 

There  is  sometimes  a  species  of  wickedness  in  mei^ 
of  wit;  but  genius  is  almost  ahvays  full  of  gcodness. 
Wickedness  does  not  arise  from  a  superfluity  of  un^ 
derstanding,  but  from  a  deficiency.  If  we  could  talk 
upon  ideas, °we  should  leave  persons  at  rest;  if  we 
believed  that  we  could  excel  otl.ers  by  our  natural  ta- 
lents, we  should  not  v/ish  to  level  the  walk  that  we  are 
ambitious  to  command.  There  are  common  and  mod- 
erate minds  disguised  under  a  poignant  and  malicious, 
style  of  sarcasm  ;  but  true  superiority  is  radiant  witji 
good  feeling  as  well  as  with  lofty  thoughts? 

?oi,.  u,  X  ^ 


258 


PmLOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


The  habit  of  intellectual  employment  inspires  an 
enliE^btened  benevolence  towards  men  and  things.  We 
3io  longer  cling  to  ourselves  as  privileged  beings,  when 
■^ve  know  much  of  the  destiny  of  man  ;  we  are  not  of- 
fended with  every  event,  as  if  it  were  unexampled  ; 
tv.id  as  justice  only  consists  in  the  custom  of  consider- 
ing the  mutual  relations  of  men  under  a  general  point 
of  view,  comprehensiveness  of  understanding  serves 
to  detach  us  from  selfish  calculations.  We  have  rang- 
ed in  thought  over  our  own  existence  as  well  as  that  of 
others,  when  we  have  given  oureelves  up  to  the  con- 
lemplation  of  the  universe. 

Another  great  disadvantage  of  ignorance,  in  the  I 
present  times,  is,  that  it  renders  us  entirely  incapable 
cf  having  an  opinion  of  our  ov/n  upon  the  larger  por- 
nionof  subjects  which  require  reflection:  consequent- 
ly, when  this  or  that  manner  of  thinking  becomes  fasli- 
Sonable  from  the  ascendancy  of  events,  the  greater 
part  of  mankind  believe  that  these  words,  "  all  the 

world  acts,  or  thinks,  in  this  manner,"  ought  to  in- 
fluence every  claim  of  reason  and  of  conscience. 

In  the  idle  class  of  society,  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  have  any  soul  without  the  cultivation  of  the  mint?. 
J/ormerly  nature  was  sufficient  to  instruct  m.an,  and  to 
>-xpand  his  imagination ;  but,  since  thought  (that  fa- 
ding shadow  of  feeling)  has  turned  ail  things  into  ab> 
stractions,  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  great  deal  of 
knowledge  to  have  any  good  sentiment.  Our  choice 
IS  no  longer  balanced  between  the  bursts  of  the  soul, 
devoid  of  instruction,  and  philosophical  studies ;  but 
between  the  importunate  noise  of  common  and  frivol= 
ous  society,  and  that  language  which  has  been  hoiden 
by  men  of  real  genius  from  age  to  age,  even  to  our 
uwn  times. 

How  then  can  v/c,  without  the  knowledge  of  lan- 
guages, without  the  habit  of  reading,  communicate 
v^ith  these  men  who  are  no  more,  and  whom  we  fee] 
so  thoroughly  our  friends,  our  fellow-citizens,  and  our 
allies  ?  We  must  be  mean  and  narrow  of  soul  to  re- 
fuse such  noble  enjoyments.  Those  only,  who  fill 
their  lives  with  ^ood  acti,ens,  can  dispense  with  study  f 


IGNORANCE  AND  FRH  OLITY  OF  SFIEIT.  259 

the  ig-norance  of  idle  men  proves  lb eir  dryness  of  soul^ 
:i3  well  as  their  frivolity  of  lUiderstanding. 

After  all,  there  yet  remains  something  truly  beauti- 
ful  and  moral,  v/hich  ignorance  and  emptiness  cannot 
enjoy  :  this  is  the  union  of  all  thinking  men,  from  one 
end  of  Europe  to  the  other.  Often  they  have  no  mu- 
tual relations  ;  often  they  are  dispersed  to  a  great  dis- 
tance from  each  other ;  but  when  they  meet,  a  word 
is  enough  for  recognition.  It  is  not  this  religion,  or 
that  opinicn,  or  such  a  sort  of  study ;  it  is  the  venera- 
tion of  truth  that  forms  their  bond  of  union.  Some- 
times, like  miners,  they  dig  into  the  foundations  of 
the  earth,  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  the  world 
of  darkness,  m  the  bosom  of  eternal  night :  some- 
times they  mount  to  the  summit  of  Chimboraco, 
to  discover,  at  the  loftiest  point  of  the  globe,  some 
hitherto  unknown  phjenomena  :  sometimes  they  study 
the  languages  of  the  East,  to  find  in  them  the  primi- 
tive history  of  man  :  sometimes  they  journey  to  Je- 
rusalem, to  call  forth  from  the  holy  ruins  a  sparky 
v.'hich  reanimates  religion  and  poetry  :  in  a  word,  tney 
truly  are  the  people  of  God  ;  they  who  do  not  yet 
despair  of  the  human  race,  and  wish  to  preserve  to 
man  the  dominion  of  reflection. 

I'he  Germans  demand  our  especial  gratitude  in  this 
respect.  Ignorance  and  iudifTerence,  as  to  literature 
and  the  fnie  arts,  is  shameful  Vvith  them  ;  and  their 
c::iir.pie  proves,  that,  in  our  days,  the  cultivation  of 
the  understanding  preserves,  in  the  independent  clas- 
ses of  society,  some  sentiments  and  some  principles. 

Tne  direction  of  litej^ature  and  philosophy  was  not 
good  in  France  during  the  last  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century;  but,  if  we  may  so  express  ourselves,  the 
direction  of  ignorance  is  still  more  forniidable  :  for  no 
book  does  harm  to  him  who  reads  every  book.  If 
idle  men  of  the  world,  on  the  contrary,  are  busy  for  a 
few  moments,  the  work  they  meet  with  is  an  event  in 
their  heads,  like  that  of  a  stranger's  arrival  in  the  de- 
sert;  and  when  this  work  contains  dangerous  sophis- 
tries, they  have  no  arguments  to  oppose  to  it.  The 
discovery  of  printing  is  truly  fatal  for  those  who  only 


260 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  MORALS. 


read  by  halves,  or  by  hazard ;  for  knowledge,  like 
the  spear  of  Achilles,  ought  to  cure  the  wounds 
v/hich  it  has  inflicted. 

Ignorance,  in  the  midst  of  the  refinements  of  so- 
cietj^,  is  the  most  hateful  of  all  mixtures  :  it  makes  us, 
in  some  respects,  like  the  vulgar,  who  value  intrigue 
and  cunning  alone  :  it  leads  us  to  look  but  for  good 
living  and  physical  enjoyrnents;  to  make  use  of  a  lit- 
tle wit,  in  order  to  destroy  a  great  deal  of  soul ;  to 
boast  of  our  ignorance  ;  to  demand  applause  for  what 
we  do  not  feci  ;  in  a  word,  to  unite  a  limited  under- 
standing with  a  hard  lieart,  to  such  a  degree,  as  to  be 
■deprived  of  that  looking  upwards  to  heaven,  which 
Ovid  has  recorded  as  the  noblest  attribute  of  human 
nature. 

Os  liomini  sublime  dedlt  {  ccelumque  tueri 
Jussit,  et  erectos  ad  sidera  toliere  vultus. 

He,  who  to  man  a  form  erect  has  given,  * 
Bade  b,is  esaked  looks  be  iix'd  on  heaven-. 


END  OF  THE  THIRD  PAKT, 


FART  I\ , 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

General  Considerations  ufion  Religion  in  Germany. 

l^HE  nations  of  German  extraction  are  all  natiirallv 
relig-ious  ;  and  the  zeaiousness  of  this  feeling  has  giv- 
en occasion  to  many  wars  amongst  them.  Neverthe- 
less, in  Germany,  above  all  other  coun'ries,  the  bias 
of  mind  leans  more  to'vards  enthusiasm  than  fa- 
naticism. The  sectarian  spirit  must  mariifest  itself  un- 
der a  variety  of  forms,  in  a  country  where  the  activity 
of  thought  is  most  observable  ;  but,  in  general,  they 
do  not  mix  theoh  gicai  discussions  with  human  pas- 
sions; and  the  different  opiPiions  in  regard  to  religion 
seldom  v.'ander  out  of  that  ideal  world  which  enjoys  a 
profound  peace. 

For  a  long  time  they  were  occupied,  as  I  shall  show 
in  the  following  chapter,  with  tiie  inquiry  into  the  doc- 
trines of  Christianity ;  b-at,  for  the  last  twenty  years, 
since  the  writings  of  Kant  have  had  great  i:'fiU- 
ence  upon  the  pub:ic  m.ind,  there  have  prevailed  a 
liberty  and  a  comprehensiveness  in  the  manner  of  con* 
sidering  r-eligion,  which  neither  require  nor  reject  any 
form  of  v,'orship  in  particular,  but  Vr'hich  derive  from 
heavenly  things  the  ruling  pririciple  of  existence. 

Many  persons  think  that  the  religion  of  the  Ger» 
mans  is  too  indefinite  ;  and  that  it  is  better  to  rally 
round  the  standard  oi  a  more  positive  cmd  sevevt^ 


262  RELIGION  ANT)  ^^NTHUSTASM. 


mode  of  worship.    Lessinof  says,  in  Ms  Essay  on  the 
Fd^JCBvion  of  the  H^itYian  Race,  that  religious  revela- 
'  J'  always  proportioned  t^)  the  des^ree  of 

k'-  existed  at  the  time  of  their  appear- 

iiDce.  e  : ' I  TestaiTient,  the  Gospel,  and,  in  many 
respects,  the  Rf  fV^rnnation,  were,  according  to  their 
seasons,  pevfectly  in  harmony  with  the  progress  of  the 
understanding- ;  a'Kl,  perhaps,  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a 
devejopnspnt  of  Christianity,  which  will  collect  ail  the 
scattered  rays  in  tne  same  focus,  and  which  will  make 
lis  perceive  in  religion  more  than  morality,  more 
than  liappiness,  more  than  philosophy,  more  than 
sentiment  itself,  since  every  one  of  these  gifts  will  be 
multiplied  by  its  union  with  all  the  others 

However  this  may  be,  it  is  perhaps  interesting  to 
know  under  what  point  of  view  religion  is  considered 
in  Germany,  and  liow  they  have  found  means  to  con- 
nect it  with  the  whole  literary  and  philosophical  sys- 
tem, of  wJiich  I  have  sketched  the  outline.  There"  is 
soinething  imposing  in  this  collective  mass  of  thought, 
which  lays  the  whole  moral  order  completely  open  to 
our  eyes  ;  and  gives  this  sublim.e  edifice  self-devotion 
for  its  base,  and  the  Divinity  for  its  capital. 

It  is  to  the  feeling  of  the  infinite  that  the  greater  por- 
tion of  German  writers  refer  all  their  religious  ideas  ; 
but  it  may  be  asked,  Can  we  conceive  infinity  ?  Do  we 
not  conceive  it,  at  least  in  a  negative  manner,  when, 
in  the  mathemalica,  we  are  unable  to  suppose  any 
boundary  to  duration  or  to  space  i  Tills  infiiiity  consists 
in  the  absence  of  limits;  but  th.c  reeling  of  the  infinite, 
such  as  the  imagination  and  the  heart  experience  it.  is 
positive  and  creative. 

Tije  enthusiasm,  which  the  beautiful  in  idea  makes 
us  feel  that  emotion,  so  full  of  agitation  and  of  purity 
at  the  same  time,)  is  excited  by  tlie  sentiment  of  in- 
finity. We  feel  ourselves,  as  it  were,  disengaged  by 
admiration  from  the  shackles  of  hunian  destiny  ;  and  it 
seems  as  if  some  wondrous  secret  was  revealed  to  us, 
to  free  the  soul  for  ever  from  languor  and  decline. 
Wnen  we  contemplate  the  starry  heaven,  where  the 
sparks  of  light  are  universes  like  our  own,  where  the 
brilliant  dust  of  the  milky  way  traces,  with  its  T/orlds, 


EELIGION  IN  GER:SfAKY. 


263 


-a  circle  in  the  firmament,  our  thoughts  are  lost  in  the 
infiiiite,  our  hearts  beat  for  the  unknown,  for  tliC  im- 
mense, and  we  feel  that  it  is  only  on  the  other  side  of 
earthly  expeiience  that  our  real  life  will  commence. 
Jn  a  word,  religious  emotions,  more  than  all  others 
together,  awaken  in  us  the  feeling  of  the  infinite  ;  but 
w^iien  they  awaken  they  satisfy  it ;  and  it  is  for  this  rea- 
son, doubtless,  that  a  man  of  great  genius  has  said  : 
^'  That  a  thinking  being  was  not  happy,  until  the  idea 
"  of  infuiity  became  an  enjoyment  instead  of  a  burthen 
to  his  mind." 

In  effect,  when  we  give  ourselves  entirely  up  to  re- 
flections, to  images,  to  desirts  which  extend  beyond 
the  limits  of  experience,  it  is  then  only  that  we  freely 
breathe.  When  we  wish  to  confine  ourselves  to  the 
interests,  the  conveniences,  the  laws  of  this  woiid, 
genius,  sensibility,  entnusiasm,  pa.ii,fully  agitate  the 
soul ;  but  they  overflov,'  it  with  enjoyment  when  we 
consecrat.:  them  to  this  remembrance,  to  this  expecta- 
tion of  infinity,  which  appears  in  metaphysics  under 
the  form  of  innate  dispositions,  in  virtue  under  that  of 
seif-devotion,  in  tht_  arts  under  that  of  the  ideal,  and  in 
religion  herself  under  that  of  divine  love. 

The  feeling  of  the  infinite  is  the  true  attribute  of  the 
soul  :  ail  that  is  beautilul  of  every  ku:id  excites  in  us 
the  hope,  and^ie  de  sire,  of  an  eterrsai  futurity,  and  of 
a  sublime  existence  ;  v/e  cannot  hear  the  w  ind  in  the 
forest,  nor  tiie  delicious  concords  of  human  voices; 
we  cannot  feel  tiie  enchantment  of  eloquence  or  of 
poetry;  in  a  word,  above  all,  we  cannot  innocently, 
deeply  love,  without  being  penetrated  with  religion 
and  ininiortality.  Ali  the  sacrifices  of  personal  iiiter- 
est  arise  from  our  wish  to  bring  ourselves  into  accord 
^vith  this  feeling  oi  the  ii^^finiie,  of  whicn  we  experi- 
ence ali  the  charm,  without  being  able  to  express  it. 
If  the  power  of  duty  was  confineu  to  the  siioi  t  oura- 
tion  of  this  life,  how  then  would  it  have  more  com- 
mand than  the  passions  over  the  soui  ?  Who  wouid 
sacrifice  what  is  bounded  to  what  is  bounded  ?  "  AU 
"  iimitect  things  are  so  snort,"  says  St.  Augustin  ;  the 
moments  of  enjoymeiit  tnal  cartniy  incimations  may 
Itiduce^  aiid  the  days  of  peace  that  a  moral  conduce 


264 


RELIGION  AXD  ENTHUSIAS'M. 


ensures  would  differ  very  little,  if  emotions  without 
limit,  and  without  end  did  not  spontaneously  spring  up 
in  the  bottom  of  that  human  being's  heart  who  devotes 
iiimself  to  virtue. 

Many  persons  will  deny  this  feeling  of  the  infinite  ; 
and,  assuredly,  they  have  very  good  ground  to  deny 
it,  for  we  cannot  possibly  explain  it  to  them  ;  a  few  ad- 
ditional words  will  not  succeed  in  making  them  under- 
stand what  the  universe  has  failed  to  teach  them.  Na- 
ture has  arrayed  the  infinite  in  symbols  which  may 
bring  it  down  to  us :  light  and  darkness,  storm  and 
silence,  pleasure  and  pain,  ail  inspire  man  with  this 
universal  religion,  of  which  his  heart  is  the  sanctuary. 

A  v/riter,  of  whom  I  have  already  had  occasion  to 
speak,  M.  Ar^ciilon,  has  lately  published  a  work 
upon  the  new  German  philosophy,  which  unites  the 
perspicuity  of  French  wit  with  the  depth  of  Ger- 
jiian  geriius.  M.  Ancillon  had  befoie  acquired  a 
celebrated  name  as  an  historian  ;  he  is  incontesti- 
bly,  what  we  are  accustomed  to  call  in  France  a  good 
head  ;  his  understanding  itself  is  positive  and  me- 
thodical ;  and  it  is  by  his  soul  that  he  has  seized  all 
that  the  tiiought  of  the  infinite  can  present  most  com- 
prehensive and  most  exalted.  Wnat  he  has  written  on 
this  subject  bears  a  character  entirely  original ;  it  is,  to 
use  the  expression,  the  sublime  reouc^ea  to  logic  :  he 
traces,  with  precision,  the  boundary  where  experimen- 
tal knowledge  is  stopped,  whether  in  the  arts,  or  in 
philosophy,  or  in  religion:  he  shows  that  sentiii.eht 
goes  mucii  farther  than  ki  ov/iedge  ;  and  that,  beyond 
demonstrative  proofs,  there  is  a  natural  evidence  in  il; 
beyond  analysis,  an  inspiration  ;  beyond  v/ords,  ideas  ; 
beyond  ideas,  emotions  ;  and  that  tiie  feeling  of  the  in- 
finite is  a  phsenomenon  oi  mind,  a  pri..  itive  pi^se- 
nomenon,  witnout  which  there  wouici  be  nothing  in 
man  but  physical  instinct  and  calculation. 

It  is  difficult  to  be  religious  accordii.g  to  the  man- 
ner introduced  by  some  dry  characters,  oi  some  v/ell- 
meaning  persons,  who  wouio  wish  to  conici  upon  re- 
ligion tlie  honours  of  scientific  demonsti^atioh.  Tnat 
winch  so  intimately  touches  upon  the  n;ysteiy  oi  ex- 
istence^  cannot  be  expressed  by  the  regu.iar  forms  of 


RELIGION  IN  GERMAXV. 


265 


s-peech.  Reasoning;  on  such  subjects  serves  to  show 
v/^ere  reasoning  comes  to  an  end  ;  and  at  that  conclu- 
sion commences  true  certainty;  for  the  truths  of  feel- 
ing- have  an  intensity  of  strength  v/hich  calls  all  our 
being  to  their  support.  The  infinite  acts  upon  the 
soul  so  as  to  exalt  and  to  disengage  it  from  time.  The 
business  of  life  is  to  sacrifice  the  interests  of  our  tran- 
sitory existence  to  that  immortality  which  even  now 
commences  for  us,  if  we  are  already  worthy  of  it ;  and 
not  only  the  greater  part  of  religions  have  this  same 
object,  but  the  fine  arts,  poetry,  glory,  love,  are  reli- 
gions, into  which  there  enters  more  or  less  alloy. 

This  expression,  "  ii  is  divine  "  whicb  has  become 
general,  in  order  to  extol  the  beauties  of  nature  and 
of  art — this  expression  is  a  species  of  belief  among 
the  Germans  :  it  is  not  from  indifference  that  they  are 
tolerant ;  it  is  because  there  is  an  universality  in  their 
manner  of  feeling  and  conceiving  religion.  In  fact, 
every  man  may  find,  in  some  different  w^onder  of  the 
imiverse,  that  which  most  powerfully  addresses  his 
soul  : — one  admires  the  divinity  in  the  character  of  a 
father  ;  another  in  the  innocence  of  a  child  ;  a  third  in 
the  heavenly  aspect  of  Raphael's  virgins,  in  music,  in 
poetry,  in  nature,  it  matters  not  in  what— for  all  are 
agreed  in  admiring  (if  all  are  animated  by  a  religious 
principle)  the  genius  of  the  world,  and  of  every  human 
being. 

Men  of  superior  genius  have  raised  doubts  con= 
cerning  this  or  that  doctrine  ;  and  it  is  a  great  misfor- 
tune, that  the  subtilty  of  logic,  or  the  pretences  of 
self-love,  should  be  able  to  disturb  and  to  chili  the 
feeling  of  faith.  Frequently  also  reflection  has  found 
itself  at  a  loss  in  those  intolerant  religions,  of  which, 
as  we  may  say,  a  penal  code  has  been  formed,  and 
which  have  impressed  upon  theology  all  the  forms  of 
a  despotic  government :  but  how  sublime  is  that  wor- 
ship, which  gives  us  a  foretaste  of  celestial  happiness 
in  the  inspiration  of  genius,  as  in  the  most  obscure  of 
virtues ;  in  the  tenderest  affections  as  in  the  severest 
pains ;  in  the  tempest  as  in  the  fairest  skies  ;  in  the 
flower  as  in  the  oak  ;  in  every  thing  except  calculation, 

VOL.  II.  Y  ' 


266 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


except  the  deadly  chill  cf  selfishness,  which  separates 
lis  from  the  benevolence  of  nature,  which  niakes  van- 
ity alone  the  motive  of  oUj;.  actions — -vanity,  whose 
root  is  ever  venernous  !  How  beautiful  is  that  religion 
which  consecrates  the  whole  world  to  its  Author,  and 
makes  all  our  faculties  subservient  to  the  celebration 
of  the  holy  rites  of  this  wonderful  universe  ! 

Far  from  such  a  belief  interdicting  literature  or  sci= 
ence,  the  theory  of  all  ideas,  the  secret  of  all  talents, 
belong  to  it ;  nature  and  the  Divinity  would  necessa- 
rily be  in  contradiction  to  each  other,  if  sincere  piety 
forbade  men  to  make  use  of  their  faculties,  and  to 
taste  the  pleasure  that  results  from  their  exercise. 
There  is  religion  in  all  the  works  of  genius  ;  there  is 
genius  in  all  religious  thoughts.  Wit  is  of  a  less  il» 
lustrious  origin ;  it  serves  for  an  instrument  of  con- 
tention ;  but  genius  is  creative.  The  inexhaustible 
source  of  talents  and  of  virtues,  is  this  feeling  of  in- 
finity, which  claims  its  share  in  ail  generous  actionsj 
and  in  all  profound  thoughts. 

Religion  is  nothing  if  it  is  not  every  thing;  if  ex- 
istence  is  not  filled  with  it ;  if  we  do  not  incessantly 
maintain  in  the  soul  this  belief  in  the  invisible ;  this 
self-devotion,  this  elevation  of  desire,  which  ought  to 
triumph  over  the  low  inclinations  to  which  our  nature 
exposes  us. 

But  how  can  religion  be  incessantly  present  to  our 
thoughts,  if  we  do  not  unite  it  to  every  thing  which 
ought  to  form  the  occupation  of  a  noble  existence,  de- 
voted afiections,  phijosophicai  meditations,  and  the 
pleasures  of  tht  imagination?  A  great  number  of 
practices  are  recon.mended  to  the  faithful,  that  their 
religion  m^ay  be  recalled  to  their  minds  every  moment 
of  ti  e  da  by  the  obligations  which  it  imposes  ;  but  if 
the  whole  life  could  be  naturally,  and  without  efibrt, 
an  act  of  w^orship  at  every  moment,  would  not  thi.^  be 
still  better  ?  Shice  the  admiration  of  the  beautiful  al- 
ways has  relation  to  the  Divinity,  and  since  the  very 
spring  of  energetic  thought  makes  us  remount  to  our 
origin,  why  should  not  the  power  of  feeling  love,  poe- 
try, phiiosophv,  iorm  the  columns  of  the  Temple  of 
Faith  ? 


PROTESTANTIS'Vf 


267 


CHAPTER  II. 

X>f  ProtestarAirm, 


It  vvas  liatural  for  a  revolution,  prepared  by  ideas, 
to  take  place  in  Germany  ;  for  the  prominent  trait  of 
this  thinking  people  is  the  energy  of  internal  convic- 
tion. When  once  an  opinion  has  taken  possession  of 
German  heads,  their  patience,  and  their  perseverance 
in  supportinij  it,  do  singular  honour  to  the  force  of 
human  volition. 

When  %ve  read  the  details  of  the  death  of  John 
Huas,  and  of  Jerome  of  Prague,  the  forerunners  of 
the  Reformation,  v^e  see  a  striking  example  of  that 
which  characterized  the  Protestant  leaders  in  Germa- 
ny, the  union  of  a  lively^  faith  with  the  spirit  of  inqui- 
ry. Their  reason  did  no  injury  to  their  belief,  nor 
their  belief  any  to  their  reason  ;  and  their  moral  facul- 
ties were  always  put  into  simultaneous  action. 

Throughout  Germany  we  find  traces  of  the  different 
religious  struggles,  which,  for  many  ages,  occupied 
the  v/hole  nation.  They  still  show,  in  the  cathedral 
at  Prague,  bas-reliefs  where  the  devastations  commit- 
ted by  the  Hussites  are  represented  ;  and  that  part  of 
the  church  which  the  Swedes  set  fire  to  in  the  thirty 
years' war,  is  not  yet  rebuilt.  Not  far  from  thence, 
on  the  bridge,  is  placed  the  statue  of  St.  John  Nepo- 
muccnes,  who  preferred  perishing  in  the  VT'aves  to  re- 
vealiiig  the  v»-eaknesscs  which  an  unfortunate  queen 
had  confessed  to  him.  The  monuments,  and  even  the 
ruins,  vrhich  testify  the  infiuence  of  religion  over  man, 
interest  the  soul  in  a  lively  m.anner ;  for  the  v/ars  of 
opinion,  hov/ever  cruel  they  may  be,  do  more  honour 
to  natiors  than  the  wars  of  interest. 

Of  all  the  great  men  produced  by  Germany,  Luther 
is  the  one  whose  character  is  the  most  German  :  his 
firmness  had  something  rude  about  it  \  his  convic- 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


tion  arose  even  to  infatuation  ;  the  courage  of  the  iTiincI 
was  in  him  the  pri-ncipie  of  the  courage  of  action ; 
what  there  was  passionate  in  his  soul  did  rot  divert 
him  from  abstract  studies:  and  although  he  attacked 
certain  abuses,  and  considered  certain  doctrines  as 
prejudices,  it  was  not  a  phiiosophical  incredulity,  but 
a  species  of  fanaticism,  that  excited  iiim. 

Nevertheless,  the  Reformation  has  introduced  into 
the  world  inquiry  in  matters  of  religion.  In  some 
minds  its  result  has  been  scepticism ;  in  otlicrs,  a 
stronger  conviction  of  religious  truths:  the  human 
rnind  had  arrived  at  an  epoch  when  it  was  necessary 
for  it  to  examine  in  order  to  believe.  The  discovery 
of  printing,  the  multiplicity  of  every  sort  of  know- 
ledge, and  the  phiiosophical  investigation  of  truth, 
did  not  allov/  any  longer  that  blind  faith  which  was 
formerly  so  profitable  to  its  teachers.  Religious  en- 
thusiasm could  not  grow  again  except  by  inquiry  and 
Bieditation.  It  was  Luther  who  put  the  Oid  Testa- 
ment and  the  Gospel  into  the  hands  of  all  the  world  ; 
it  was  he  who  gave  its  impulse  to  the  study  of  anti- 
quity ;  for  in  learning  Hebrew  to  read  the  Old,  and 
Greek  to  read  the  Nev/  Testament,  the  students  cul- 
tivated the  ancient  languages,  and  their  minds  were 
turned  towards  historical  researches. 

Examination  may  weaken  that  habitual  faith  which 
men  do  well  to  preserve  as  much  as  they  can  ;  but 
when  man  comes  out  of  his  inquiries  more  religious 
than  he  was  when  he  entered  into  them,  it  is  then  that 
religion  is  built  upon  an  immutable  basis  ;  it  is  then 
that  harmony  exists  between  her  and  knowledge,  and 
ihat  they  mutually  assist  each  other. 

Some  writers  have  largely  declaimed  against  the 
system  of  perfectibility  ;  and,  to  hear  them,  we  should 
think  that  it  was  a  real  ciime  to  believe  our  species 
capable  of  perfection.  It  is  enough  in  France  that  an 
individual  of  such  a  party  should  have  maintained  this 
or  that  opinion,  to  make  it  bad  taste  to  adopt  it ;  and  all 
the  sheep  of  the  same  flock,  one  after  the  other,  has- 
ten to  level  their  wise  attacks  at  ideas,  which  stiil  re- 
"main  exactly  what  they  are  by  nature. 


RELTGIOIs  n>r  GERMANY. 


269 


It  is  vcr;/ probable  that  the  human  species  is  sus- 
ceptible of  education,  as  well  as  each  man  in  particu- 
lar ;  and  that  there  are  epochs  marked  for  the  progress 
of  thought  in  the  eternal  career  of  time.  The  Refor- 
mation was  the  aera  of  inquiry,  and  of  that  enlighten* 
ed  conviction  which  inquiry  produces,  Christianity 
was  first  established,  then  altered,  then  examined^ 
then  understood  ;  and  these  different  periods  were  ne- 
cessary to  its  development ;  they  have  sometimes  last- 
ed a  hundred,  sometimes  a  thousand  years.  The  Su- 
prem.e  Being,  who  draws  time  out  of  eternity,  does 
not  economize  that  time  after  our  manner. 

When  Luther  appeared,  religion  v/as  no  more  than 
a  political  power,  attacked  or  defended  as  an  interest 
of  this  world.  Luther  recalled  it  to  the  land  of 
thought.  The  historical  progress  of  the  human  mindj 
in  this  respect,  in  Germany,  is  worthy  of  remark. 
When  the  wars  occasioned  by  the  Reformation  were 
set  at  rest,  and  the  Protestant  refugees  were  natural- 
ized in  the  different  northern  states  of  the  German 
empire,  the  philosophical  studies,  which  had  always 
made  the  interior  of  the  soul  their  object,  were  natu- 
rally directed  towards  religion  ;  and  there  is  no  liter- 
ature of  the  eighteenth  century  in  which  we  find 
so  many  religious  books  as  in  the  literature  of  Ger- 
many. 

Lessing,  one  of  the  most  powerful  geniuses  of  his 
nation,  never  ceased  to  attack,  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  logic,  that  maxim  so  commonly  repeated, 

that  there  are  some  da?igerous  truths.^*  In  fact,  it  is 
a  singular  instance  of  presumption,  in  certain  individ- 
uals, to  think  they  have  the  right  of  concealing  the 
truth  from  their  fellow-men,  and  to  arrogate  the  pre- 
rogative of  placing  themselves  (like  Alexander  before 
Diogenes)  in  a  situation  to  veil  from  our  eyes  that 
sun  which  belongs  alike  to  ail :  this  pretended  pru- 
dence  is  but  the  theory  of  imposture;  is  but  an  at- 
tempt to  play  the  juggler  with  ideas,  in  order  to  se- 
cure the  subjection  of  mankind.  Truih  is  the  work 
of  God,  lies  are  the  works  of  man.  If  we  study  those 
3eras  of  history  in  which  truth  has  been  an  object  of 

VOL.  .II.        '  Y  ^ 


270 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM^ 


fear,  we  shall  always  find  them  when  partial  mterests 
contended  in  some  ir»-anner  against  the  universal  ten- 
dency. 

The  search  for  truth  is  the  noblest  of  employments, 
and  its  promulgation  is  a  duty.  There  is  nothing-  to 
fear  for  society,  or  for  religion,  in  this  search,  if  it  is 
sincere  ;  and  if  it  is  not  sincere,  truth  no  longer,  bat 
falsehood,  causes  the  evil.  There  is  not  a  sentiment 
in  man  of  which  we  cannot  find  the  philosophical  rea- 
son ;  not  an  opinion,  not  even  a  prejudice,  generally 
cUffused,  which  has  not  its  root  in  nature.  We  ought 
then  to  examine,  not  with  the  object  of  destroying, 
but  to  build  our  belief  upon  internal,  not  upon  bor- 
rowed conviction. 

We  see  errors  lasting  for  a  long  time  ;  but  they 
always  cause  a  painful  uneasiness.  When  we  look  at 
the  tower  of  Pisa,  which  leans  over  its  base,  we  ima- 
gine that  it  is  abolit  to  fall,  although  it  has  stood  for 
ages  ;  and  our  imaginntion  is  not  at  its  ease,  except  in 
the  sight  of  fircn  and  regular  edifices.  It  is  the  same 
with  our  belief  in  certain  principles  ;  that  which  is 
founded  upon  prejudices  makes  us  uneasy  ;  and  we 
love  to  see  reason  supporting,  with  all  its  power,  thoN 
elevated  conceptions  of  the  soul. 

The  understanding  contains  in  itself  the  principle 
of  every  taing  which  it  acquires  by  experience. 
Fontenelie  has  justly  said,  that  "we  think  we  recog- 

nise  a  truth  when  first  we  hear  it."  How  then  can 
we  ima^gint,  that  sooner  or  later  just  ideas,  and  the 
internal  conviction  which  they  cause,  will  not  reap- 
pear ?  There  is  a  pre-established  harmony  between 
truth  and  human  reason,  v^hich  always  ends  by  bring- 
ing each  nearer  to  the  other. 

Proposing  to  men  not  to  interchange  their  thoughts^, 
is  what  is  commonly  called  keeping  the  secret  of  the 
play.  W^e  only  continue  in  ignorance  because  we  are 
U;  consciously  ignorant;  but  from  the  moment  that 
-we  have  commanded  silence,  it  appears  that  somebody 
has  spoken;  and  to  stifle  the  thoughts  which  those 
words  have  excited,  we  must  degrade  reason  her- 
seif=    There  are  men,  full  of  energy  ajid  good  faitlij 


RELIGION  IN  GERMANY. 


271 


who  never  dreamt  of  this  or  that  philosophical  truth  ; 
but  those  who  know  and  conceal  their  knowledge,  are 
hypocrites,  or,  at  least,  are  nmst  arrogant  and  most 
irreligious  beings.  Most  arrogant ;  for  what  right  have 
they  to  think  themselves  of  the  class  of  the  initiated, 
and  the  rest  of  the  world  excluded  from  it  r — Most  ir- 
religious; for  if  there  is  a  philosophical  or  natural 
truth,  a  truth,  in  short,  which  contradicts  religion,  re- 
ligion would  not  be  what  it  is,  the  light  of  lights. 

We  must  be  very  ignorant  of  Clu'istianity,  that  is 
to  say,  of  the  revelation  of  the  moral  laws  of  man  and 
the  universe,  to  recommend  to  those  who  wish  to  be- 
lieve in  it,  ignorance,  secrecy,  and  darkness.  Open 
the  gates  of  the  temple  ;  call  to  your  support  genius, 
the  fine  arts,  the  sciences,  philosophy  ;  assemble  them 
in  one  focus  to  honour  ?jid  to  comprehend  the  Author 
of  creation  ;  and  if  love  has  said,  that  the  name  of 
those  we  love  seems  written  on  the  leaves  of  every 
flower,  how  should  not  the  impress  of  the  Godhead 
appear  in  every  thought  that  attaches  itself  to  the  eter- 
nal chain  ? 

The  right  of  examining  what  we  ought  to  believe, 
is  the  foundation  of  Protestantism.  The  first  reform- 
ers did  not  so  understand  it :  they  thought  they  could 
fix  the  pillars  of  Hercules  of  the  hum.an  mind  at -the 
boundary  of  their  own  knowledge  ;  but  they  were 
wrong  in  fancying  that  men  would  submit  to  their  de- 
cisions as  if  they  were  infallible  ; — they  who  rejected 
all  authority  of  this  sort  in  the  Catholic  religion.  Pro- 
testantism then  was  sure  to  follow  the  development 
and  the  progress  of  knowledge  ;  while  Catholicism 
boasted  of  being  immoveable  in  the  midst  of  the  waves 
of  time. 

Among  the  German  writers  of  the  Protestant  reli- 
gion, different  ways  of  thinking  have  prevailed,  which 
have  successively  occupied  attention.  Many  learned 
men  have  made  enquiries,  unheard  of  before,  into  the 
Old  and  New  Testament.  Michaeiis  has  studied  the 
languages,  the  antiquiiies,  and  the  natural  history  of 
•Asia,  to  interpret  the  Bible  ;  and  while  the  spirit  of 
French  philosophy  was  making  a  jest  of  the  Christian 


272 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASI^I. 


religion,  they  ip.ade  it  in  Germany  the  object  of  erudi- 
tion. However  this  sort  of  labour  may  in  some  re- 
spects, insure  relig-ious  minds,  v.hat  veneration  does 
it  not  imply  for  the  book  ^vhich  is  the  object  of  so  se- 
rious an  inquiry  !  These  learned  men  attacked  neither 
doctrines,  nor  prophecies,  nor  miracles  ;  but  a  great 
number  of  writers  have  followed  them,  who  have 
attempted  to  give  an  entirely  physical  explanation  to 
the  Old  and  Nev/  Testament  ;  and  who,  considering 
them  both  in  the  light  only  of  good  writings  of  an  in- 
structive kind,  see  nothing  in  the  mysteries  but  orien- 
tal metaphors. 

These  theologians  called  themselves  rational  inter- 
jireters^  because  they  believed  they  could  disperse 
every  sort  of  obscurity:  but  it  was  a  wrong  direction 
of  the  spirit  of  inquiry  to  attempt  applying  it  to 
truths,  of  which  Vv^e  can  have  no  presentiment,  except 
by  elevation  and  meditation  of  soul.  The  spirit  of  in- 
quiry ought  to  serve  for  the  demarcation  of  what  is 
superior  to  reason,  in  the  same  manner  that  an  astron- 
omer defines  the  heights  to  which  the  sight  of  man 
cannot  attain  :  thus  therefore  to  point  out  the  incom- 
prehensible regions,  without  pretending  to  deny  their 
existence,  or  to  describe  them  by  words,  is  to  m.ake  use 
of  the  spirit  of  inquiry,  according  to  its  measure,  and 
its  destination. 

The  learned  mode  of  interpretation  is  not  more  sat- 
isfactory than  dogmatic  authority.  The  imagination 
and  the  sensibility  of  the  Germans  could  not  content 
itself  with  this  sort  of  prosaic  religion,  which  paid  the 
respect  of  reason  to  Christianity.  Herder  was  the 
first  to  regenerate  faith  by  poetry  :  deeply  instructed 
in  the  eastern  languages,  he  felt  a  kind  of  admiration 
for  the  Bible  like  that  which  a  sanctified  Homer  would 
inspire.  The  natural  bias  of  the  mind  in  Germany  is 
to  consider  poetry  as  a  sort  of  prophetic  gift,  the  fore- 
runner of  divine  enjoyments;  so  that  it  was  not  pro- 
fanation to  unite  to  religious  faith  the  enthusiasm  which 
poetry  inspires.  . 

Herder  was  not  scrupulously  orthodox ;  but  he  re- 
jected, as  well  as  his  partisans,  the  learned  commen- 


PvELIGION  Ds~  GEEMANY. 


273 


taries  which  had  the  simpUacation  cf  the  Bible  for 
their  object,  and  which,  by  simpliiying;,  ar.nihiiated  it. 
A  sort  of  poetical  theology,  vague  but  ariimated,  free 
but  feelhig,  takes  the  place  of  that  pedaritic  school 
which  thought  it  Vras  advancing  towards  reason,  when 
it  retrenched  some  of  the  miracles  of  this  universe  ; 
though,  at  the  same  time,  the  marvellous  is,  in  some 
■  aspects,  perhaps,  still  more  easy  to  conceive,  than 

-..It  which  it  has  been  agreed  to  call  the  natural. 
Schleicrmacher,  the  ti-anslator  cf  Plato,  has  written 

iscourses  of  extraordinary  eloquence  upon  religion; 
he  combated  that  indifference  which  has  been  called 
toleration^  and  that  destructive  labour  vrhich  has  pas- 
sed for  imparliai  inquiry..  Schleiermacher  is  not  the 
more  on  this  account  an  orthodox  theologian  ;  but  he 
shows  in  the  religious  doctrines  which  he  adopts,  the 
power  of  belief,  and  a  great  vigour  of  metaphysical 
conception.  He  has  developed,  with  much  warmth 
and  clearness,  the  feeling  of  the  infinite,  of  which  I 
ha\e  spoken  in  the  preceding  chapter.  We  may  call 
tije  relii^ious  opinions  of  Schleiermacher,  and  of  his 
disciples,  a  philosophical  theology. 

At  length  Lavater,  and  many  men  of  talent,  attach- 
ed themselves  to  the  mystical  opinions,  such  as  Fene- 
Icn  in  France,  and  different  writers  in  all  countries, 
conceived  them.  Lavater  preceded  some  of  the  authors 
whom  I  have  cited  ;  but  it  is  only  for  these  few  years 
past,  that  the  doctrine,  of  which  he  may  be  consider- 
ed one  of  the  principal  supporters,  has  gained  any 
g:reat  popularity  among  the  Germans.  The  work  of 
Lavater  upon  physiognomy  is  more  celebrated  than  his  - 
religious  writings  ;  but  that  v>iiich  rendered  him  espe- 
cialiy  remarkable  was  his  personal  character.  There 
was  in  this  man  a  rare  mixture  of  penetration  and  of  en- 
thusiasm ;  he  observed  mankind  with  a  peculiar  saga- 
city of  understanding,  and  yet  abandoned  himself,  with 
entire  confidence,  to  a  set  of  ideas  which  might  be 
called  superstitious.  He  had  sufficient  self-love  ;  and 
this  self-love,  perhaps,  was  the  cause  of  those  whim- 
sical opinions  about  himself,  and  his  miraculous  cal- 
ling.   Neyertheless;  nothing  could  equal  the  religious 


274 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


simplicity  aiid  the  candour  of  his  soul.  We  could  not: 
see  v/ithout  astonishment,  in  a  drawing-room  of  our 
own  times,  a  minister  of  the  holy  Gospel  inspired  like 
an  apostle,  and  animated  as  a  man  of  the  world.  The 
warrant  of  Lavater's  sincerity  was  to  be  found  in  his 
good  actions,  and  in  his  fine  countenance,  which  bore 
the  stamp  of  inimitable  truth. 

The  religious  writers  of  Germany,  properly  so  cal- 
led, are  divided  into  two  very  distinct  classes — the  de- 
fenders of  the  Reformation,  and  the  partisans  of  Cath- 
olicism. I  shall  examine  separately  the  writers  who 
are  of  these  different  opinions ;  but  the  assertion 
which  it  is  important  to  make  before  every  thing  is 
this,  that  if  northern  Germany  is  the  country  where 
theological  questions  have  been  most  agitated,  it  is 
also  that  in  which  religious  sentiments  are  most  uni- 
versal ;  the  national  character  is  impressed  with  them, 
and  it  is  from  them  that  the  genius  of  the  arts  and  of 
literature  draws  all  its  inspiration.  In  short,  among 
the  lower  orders,  religion  in  the  north  of  Germany 
bears  an  ideal  and  sv/eet  character,  which  singularly 
surprises  us  in  a  country  where  we  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  think  the  manners  very  rude.       I  f 

Once,  as  I  was  travelling  from  Dresden  to  Leipsic, 
I  stopped  for  the  evening  at  Meissen,  a  little  village 
placed  upon  an  eminence  over  the  river,  and  the 
church  of  which  contains  tombs  consecrated  to  illus- 
trious recollections.  I  walked  upon  the  Esplanade, 
and  suffered  myself  to  sink  into  that  sort  of  reverie 
which  the  setting  sun,  the  distant  view  of  the  land- 
scape, and  the  sound  of  the  stream  that  flows  at  the 
bottom  of  the  valley,  so  easily  excite  in  our  souls 
I  then  caught  the  voices  of  some  common  persons, 
and  I  was  afr^iid  of  hearing  such  vulgar  w-ords  as  are 
elsewhere  sung  in  the  streets.  What  was  my  aston- 
ishment, when  I  understood  the  burthen  of  their  song  I 
— "  They  loved  each  other,  and  they  died,  hoping  one 
"  day  to  meet  again  !'*  Happy  that  country  v/here  such 
feelings  are  popular;  and  spread  abroad,  even  into  the 
air  v/e  breathe,  I  know  not  what  religious  fellov.'ship, 
of  which  love  for  heaven,  and  pity  for  man,  form  the 
touching  union. 


^iOEAVIAX  :M0I>E  of  VrORSHIF. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Moravian  Mode  of  IFor&hi/^, 


_L  HEkE  is  perhaps  too  much  freedom  in  Prctestanc' 
ism  to  satisfy  a  certain  rehgious  austerity,  which  may 
seize  upon  the  man  who  is  overwhelmed  by  great  mis- 
fortunes ;  som.etimes  even  in  the  habitual  course  of 
life,  the  reality  of  this  v.'orld  disappears  all  at  once,  and 
we  feci  ourselves  in  tb.e  middle  of  its  interests  as  we 
should  at  a  ball,  where  v/e  did  not  hear  the  music  ;  the 
dancing  that  we  sav/  there  would  appear  insane.  A 
species  of  dream.ing  apathy  equally  seizes  upon  the 
bram.in  and  the  savage,  when  one  by  the  force  of 
thought,  and  the  other  by  the  force  of  ignorance,  pas= 
ses  entire  hours  in  the  dumb  contem.plation  of  destiny. 
The  only  activity  of  v»diich  the  human  being  is  then 
susceptible,  is  that  which  has  divine  worship  for  its 
object.  He  loves  to  do  something  for  Heaven  every 
moment ;  and  it  is  this  disposition  which  gives  their 
attraction  to  convents,  however  great  may  be  their  in- 
convenience in  other  respects. 

The  IMoravians  are  the  monks  of  Protestantism ; 
and  the  religious  enthusiasm  of  northern  Germany 
gave  them  birth,  about  a  hundred  years  ago.  Buc  al- 
though this  association  is  as  severe  as  a  Catholic  con- 
vent, it  is  more  liberal  in  its  principles.  No  vows  are 
taken  there  ;  all  is  voluntary  ;  men  and  v/omen  are  not 
separated,  and  marriage  is  not  forbidden.  Neverthe- 
less the  whole  society  is  ecclesiastical;  that  is  to  say, 
everything  is  done  there  by  religion  and  for  it ;  t/iC 
authority  of  the  church  rules  this  community  of  tue 
faithful,  but  this  church  is  without  priests,  and  the  sa- 
cred office  is  fulfilled  there  in  turn,  by  the  most  reli- 
gious and  venerable  persons. 

Men  and  women,  before  marriage,  live  separately 
from  each  other  in  assemblies,^where  the  most  perfect 


276 


HELIGION  AND  ENTHUSUSM- 


eqiiality  reigns.  The  entire  day  is  filled  with  labour  ; 
the  same  for  every  rank  ;  the  idea  of  Providence,  con- 
stantly present,  directs  all  the  actions  of  the  life  of  the 
Moravians.  ' 

When  a  young  man  chooses  to  take  a  companion, 
he  addresses  himself  to  the  female  superintendants  of 
girls  or  widows,  and  demands  of  them  the  person  he 
wishes  to  espouse.  They  draxv  lots  in  the  church,  to 
know  whether  he  ought  to  marry  the  woman  whom  he 
prefers  ;  and  if  the  lot  is  against  him,  he  gives  up  his 
demand.  The  Moravians  have  such  a  habit  of  resig- 
nation, that  they  do  not  resist  this  decision ;  and  as 
they  only  see  the  women  at  church,  it  costs  them  less 
to  renounce  their  choice.  This  manner  of  deciding 
upon  marriage,  and  upon  many  other  circumstances 
of  life,  indicates  the  general  spirit  of  the  Moravian 
worship.  Instead  of  keeping  themselves  submitted  to 
the  will  of  Heaven,  they  fancy  they  can  learn  it  by  m~ 
spirations,  or,  Vv'hat  is  still  more  strange,  by  interrogat- 
ing chance.  Duty  and  events  manifest  to  man  the 
views  of  God  concernin;^  the  earth;  how  can  we  flat- 
ter ourselves  with  the  notion  of  penetrating  them  by 
other  means  ? 

Yie  observe,  in  other  respects,  among  the  general- 
ity of  Moravians,  evangelical  manners,  such  as  they 
must  have  existed  from  the  time  of  the  Apostles,  in 
Christian  communities.  Neither  extraordinary  doc- 
trines nor  scrupulous  practices  constitute  the  bond  of 
this  association  :  the  Gospel  is  there  interpreted  in 
the  most  natural  and  clear  mamier  ;  but  they  are  there 
faithful  to  the  consequences  of  this  doctrine,  and  they 
make  their  conduct,  under  all  relations,  harmonize 
with  their  religious  principles.  The  Moravian  com- 
munities serve,  above  all,  to  prove  that  Protestantism, 
in  its  simplicity,  may  lead  to  the  most  austere  sort  of 
life,  and  the  most  enthusiastic  religion  ;  death  and  im- 
mortality, well  understood,  are  sufficient  to  t>ccupy 
and  to  direct  the  whole  of  existence. 

I  was  some  time  ago  at  Dintendorf,  a  little  village 
near  Erfurth,  where  a  Moravian  community  is  estab- 
lished.   This  village  is  three  leagues  distant  from  ev- 


MOIiAMAN  5I0DE  OF  WORSHIP. 


277 


try  great  road  ;  it  is  situated  between  two  moiintainsj 
upon  the  banks  of  a  rivulet ;  willows  and  lofty  poplars 
environ  it:  there  is  something  tranquil  and  sweet  in 
the  look  of  the  country,  which  prepares  the  soul  to 
free  itself  from  the  turbulence  of  life.  The  buildings 
and  the  streets  are  marked  by  perfect  cleanliness  ;  the 
women,  all  clothed  alike,  hide  their  hair,  and  bind 
their  head  with  a  riband,  whose  colour  indicates  wheth= 
er  they  are  married,  maidens,  or  widows :  the  men 
are  clothed  in  brown,  almost  like  the  Quakers.  Mer» 
cantile  industry  employs  nearly  all  of  them ;  but  one 
does  not  h^r  the  least  noise  in  the  village.  Every 
body  works  in  regularity  and  silence  ;  and  the  internal 
action  of  religious  feeling  lulls  to  rest  every  other  im« 
pulse. 

The  girls  and  widows  live  together  in  a  large  <3or«= 
rnitory,  and,  during  the  night,  one  of  them  has  her 
turn  to  watch,  for  the  purpose  of  praying,  or  of  taking 
care  of  those  who  may  be  ill.  The  unmarried  men 
live  in  the  same  manner.  Thus  there  exists  a  great 
family  for  him  who  has  none  of  his  own  ;  and  the  name 
of  bi'other  and  sister  is  common  to  all  Christians. 

Instead  of  bells,  wind  instruments,  of  a  very  sweet 
harmony,  summon  them  to  divine  service.  As  we 
proceeded  to  church,  by  the  sound  of  this  imposing 
music,  we  felt  ourselves  carried  away  from  the  earth; 
we  fancied  that  we  heard  the  trumpets  of  the  last  judg- 
ment, not  such  as  remorse  makes  us  fear  them,  but 
such  as  a  pious  confidence  makes  us  hope  them ;  it 
seemed  as  if  the  divine  compassion  manifested  itself 
in  this  appeal,  and  pronounced  beforehand  the  pardon 
of  regeneration. 

The  church  was  dressed  out  in  v/hite  roses,  and 
blossoms  of  white  thorn  :  pictures  were  not  banished 
from  the  temple  ;  and  music  was  oultivated  as  a  con- 
stituent part  of  religion  ?  they  only  sang  psalms;  there 
was  neither  sermon,  nor  mass,  nor  argument,  nor 
theological  discussion  ;  it  was  the  worship  of  God  in 
spirit  and  in  truth.  The  women,  all  in  white,  were 
ranged  by  each  other  without  any  distinction  whatever ; 

VOL.-  SI.  Z 


278 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


they  looked  like  the  innocent  shadows  who  were  about 
to  appear  together  before  the  tribunal  of  the  Divinity. 

The  buryi-Mg-ground  of  the  Moravians  is  a  garden, 
the  walks  of  which  are  marked  out  by  funeral  stones  i 
and  by  the  side  of  each  is  planted  a  flowering  shrub.  All 
these  grave-stones  are  equal :  not  one  of  these  shrubs 
rises  above  the  other  ;  and  the  sanie  epitaph  serves  for 
all  the  dead.  "  He  was  born  on  such  a  day ;  and  on 
"  such  another  he  returned  into  his  native  country." 
Excellent  expression,  to  designate  the  end  of  our  life  ! 
The  ancients  said,  "  He  lived  and  thus  threw  a  veil 
over  the  tomb,  to  divest  themselves  of  its  idea  j  the 
Christians  place  over  it  the  star  of  hope. 

On  Easter-day,  divine  service  is  performed  in  the 
burying-ground,  which  is  close  to  the  church,  and  the 
resurrection  is  announced  in  the  middle  of  the  tombs. 
All  those  who  are  present  at  this  act  of  worship,  know 
the  stone  that  is  to  be  placed  over  their  coffin  ;  and  al- 
ready breathe  the  perfume  of  the  young  tree,  whose 
leaves  and  flowers  will  penetrate  into  their  tombs.  It 
is  thus  that  we  have  seen,  in  modern  times,  an  entire 
army  assisting  at  its  own  funeral  rites,  pronouncing  for 
itself  the  service  of  the  dead,  decided  in  belief  that  it 
was  to  conquer  immortality.* 

The  communion  of  the  Moravians  cannot  adapt  it- 
self to  the  social  state,  such  as  circumstances  ordain 
it  to  be ;  but  as  it  has  been  long  and  frequently  assert- 
ed that  Catholicism  alone  addressed  the  imagination, 
it  is  of  consequence  to  remark,  that  what  truly  touch- 
es the  soul  in  religion  is  common  to  all  Christian 
churches.  A  sepulchre  and  a  prayer  exhaust  ail  the 
power  of  the  pathetic  ;  and  the  more  simple  the  faith, 
the  more  emotion  is  caused  by  the  worship. 

*  The  allusion  In  this  passage  is  to  the  siege  of  Saragossa. 


CATHOLICISM. 


279 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Of  Catholicism. 

The  Catholic  religion  is  more  tolerant  in  Germany 
than  in  any  other  country.  The  peace  of  Westphaiia 
having  fixed  the  rights  of  the  different  religions,  they 
no  longer  feared  their  mutual  invasions;  and,  besides, 
this  mixture  of  modes  of  worship,  in  a  great  number 
of  towns,  has  necessarily  induced  the  occasion  of  ob- 
serving and  judg'ing  each  other.  In  religious  as  well 
as  in  political  opinions,  we  make  a  phantom  of  our 
adversaries,  which  is  almost  always  dissipated  by  their 
presence  ;  sympathy  presents  a  fellow-creature  in  him 
v/hom  we  believed  an  enemy. 

Protestantism  being  much  more  favourable  to  know- 
ledge than  Catholicism,  the  Catholics  in  Germany  have 
put  themselves  in  a  sort  of  defensive  position,  which 
is  very  injurious  to  the  progress  of  information,  la 
the  countries  where  the  Catholic  religion  reigned  alone, 
such  as  France  and  Italy,  they  have  known  how  to 
unite  it  to  literature  and  to  the  fine  arts  ;  but  in  Ger- 
many, where  the  Protestants  have  taken  possession, 
by  means  of  the  universities,  and  by  their  natural  tcr- 
dency  to  every  thing  which  belongs  to  iiteiary  and 
philosophical  study,  the  Catholics  have  fancied  them- 
selves obliged  to  oppose  to  them  a  certain  sort  of  re- 
serve, which  destroys  almost  ail  the  means  of  distinc- 
tion, in  the  career  of  imagination  and  of  reflection. 
]Music  is  the  only  one  of  the  fine  arts  which  is  carried 
to  a  greater  degree  of  perfection  in  the  south  of  Ger- 
many than  in  the  north  ;  unless  we  reckon  in  the  num- 
ber of  the  fine  arts  a  certain  convenient  mode  of  life, 
the  enjoyments  of  which  agree  well  enough  with  re- 
pose 01  mind. 

Among  the  Catholics  in  Germany  there  is  a  sincere, 
tranquil,  and  charitable  piety;  but  there  are  no  famous 
preachers,  nor  religious  authors  who  are  quoted  :  no- 
thing there  excites  the  emotions  of  the  soul  ;  they 


280 


RELIGION  ANB  ENTHUSIASM. 


consider  religion  as  a  matter  of  fact,  in  which  enthu 
siasm  has  no  share  ;  and  one  might  say,  that  in  a  mode 
of  religious  worship  so  well  consolidated,  the  future 
life  itself  became  a  positive  truth^  upon  which  we  no 
-longer  exercise  our  thoughts. 

The  revolution  which  has  taken  place  among  the 
philosophical  minds  in  Germany,  during  the  last  thirty 
years,  has  brought  them  almost  all  back  to  religious 
sentiments.  They  had  wandered  a  little  from  them  ; 
when  the  impulse  necessary  to  propagate  toleration 
had  exceeded  its  proper  bounds:  but,  by  recalling 
idealism  in  metaphysics,  inspiration  in  poetry,  con- 
templation in  the  sciences,  they  have  restored  the  em- 
pire of  religion ;  and  the  reform  of  the  Reformation, 
or  rather  the  philosophical  direction  of  liberty  which 
it  has  occasioned,  has  banished  for  ever  (at  least  in 
theory)  materialism,  and  all  its  fatal  consequences. 
In  the  midst  of  this  intellectual  revolution,  so  fruitful 
in  noble  results,  some  writers  have  gone  too  far ;  as 
it  always  happens  in  the  oscillations  of  thought. 

We  might  say,  that  the  human  mind  is  continually 
hurrying  from  one  extreme  to  another  ;  as  if  the  opin- 
ions which  it  has  just  deserted,  were  changed  into 
regrets  to  pursue  it.  The  Reformation,  according  to 
some  authors  of  the  new  school,  has  been  the  cause 
of  many  religious  wars  ;  it  has  separated  the  north 
from  the  south  of  Germany  ;  it  has  given  the  Ger- 
mans the  fatal  habit  of  fighting  with  each  other ;  and 
these  divisions  have  robbed  them  of  the  right  of  bein^^; 
denominated  one  nation.  Lastly,  the  Reformation,  by 
giving  birth  to  the  spirit  of  inquiry,  has  dried  up  the 
imagination,  and  introduced  scepticism  in  the  place 
of  faith  :  it  is  necessary  then,  say  the  same  advocates, 
to  return  to  the  unity  of  the  church,  by  returning  to 
Catholicism. 

In  the  first  place,  if  Charles  the  Fifth  had  adopted 
Lutheranism,  there  would  have  been  the  same  unity 
in  Germany  ;  and  the  whole  country,  like  the  norihern 
portion  of  it,  would  have  form.ed  an  asylum  for  the 
arts  and  sciences.  Perhaps  this  harmony  would  liavc 
given  birth  to  fi'ec  institutions,  combined  with  a  real 


CATHOUCmf. 


281 


strength  ;  and  perhaps  that  sad  separation  ot  character 
and  knowledge  %vouid  have  been  avoided,  which  has 
yielded  iip  the  north  to  reverie,  and  kept  the  south  in 
ignoi'ance.  But  without  losing  ourselves  in  conjec- 
tures as  to  what  would  have  happened,  a  sort  of  cal- 
culation always  very  uncertain,  we  cannot  deny  that  the 
sera  of  the  Reformation  was  that  in  which  learning  and 
philosophy  were  introduced  into  Germany.  This  coun- 
try is  rot  perhaps  raised  to  the  first  rank  in  war,  in  the 
arts,  in  political  liberty  :  it  is  knowledge  of  which 
Germany  has  a  right  to  be  proud,  and  its  influence 
upon  the  thinking  part  of  Europe  takes  its  date  from 
Protestantism.  Such  revolutions  neither  proceed  ncr 
are  brought  to  an  end  by  arguments  ;  they  belong  to 
the  historical  progress  of  the  human  mind  ;  and  ths 
men  who  appear  to  be  their  authors,  are  never  more 
than  their  consequences. 

Catholicism,  disarmed  in  the  present  day,  has  the 
majesty  of  an  old  lion,  which  once  made  the  world 
tremble  ; — but  when  the  abuses  of  its  poster  brought 
on  the  Reformation,  it  put  fetters  on  the  human  mind  ; 
and  far  from  want  of  feeling  being  then  the  cause  of 
the  opposition  to  iis  ascendency,  it  was  in  order  to 
iT.ake  use  of  all  the  faculties  of  the  understanding  and 
of  the  imagination  that  the  freedom  of  thought  was  so 
loudly  demanded  again.  If  circumstances,  of  enti;  elv 
divine  origin,  and  in  which  the  hand  uf  man  was  not  in 
the  least  operative,  were  hereafter  to  bring  about  a  re- 
union between  the  two  churches,  we  should  prav  to 
God,  it  appears  to  me,  with  new  emotion,  by  the  side 
of  those  venerable  priests,  who,  in  the  latter  years  of 
the  last  century,  have  suffered  so  much  for  conscience 
sake.  But,  assuredly,  it  is  not  the  change  of  religion 
m  a  few  individuals,  nor,  above  all,  the  unjust  discredit 
which  thek  writings  have  a  tendency  to  throw  upon  the 
reformed  religion,  that  can  lead  to  the  unity  of  reli- 
gious opinions. 

Tiiere  are  in  the  human  mind  two  veiy  distinct  im- 
pulses ;■  one  makes  us  feel  tb.e  want  of  faith,  the  other 
that  of  examination.  One  of  these  tendencies  oui^ht 
cot  to  be  satisfied  at  the  e:spenve  cf  the  ether  i  ?rc-= 

^^OL.  11.  Z  ^ 


282 


REIJGION  AND  ENTRUSIASM. 


testantism  and  Catholicism  do  notarise  from  the  differ  - 
ent  character  of  the  Popes,  and  of  a  Luther  :  it  is  a 
poor  mode  of  examining  history  to  attribute  it  to  ac- 
cidents. Protestantism  and  Catholicism  exist  in  the 
human  heart ; — they  are  moral  powers  which  are  de- 
yeloped  in  nations,  because  they  are  inherent  in  every 
individual.  If  in  religion,  as  in  other  human  affec- 
tions, we  can  unite  what  the  imas^ination  and  the  rea- 
son  suggest,  there  is  harmony  in  the  whole  man  ; 
but  in  man,  as  in  the  universe,  the  power  of  creating 
and  that  of  destroying,  faith  and  enquiry,  succeed  and 
combat  each  other. 

It  has  been  attempted,  in  order  to  harmonize  these 
two  inclinations,  to  penetrate  deeper  into  the  soul ;  and 
from  that  attempt  have  arisen  the  mystical  opinions  of 
"which  vv'e  shall  speak  in  the  following  chapter  ;  but  the 
small  number  of  persons  who  have  abjured  Protestant- 
ism have  done  nothing  but  revive  resentments.  An- 
cient denominations  reanimate  ancient  quarrels ;  ma- 
gic makes  use  of  certain  words  to  call  up  apparitions  ; 
"we  may  say,  that  upon  all  subjects  there  are  terms 
which  exea^t  this  power;  these  are  the  watch-words 
which  serve  for  a  rallying  point  to  party  spirit  ;  v/e 
cannot  pronounce  them  without  agitating  afresh  the 
torches  of  discord.  The  German  Catholics  have,  to 
the  present  moment,  shown  themselves  very  ignorant 
of  what  was  passing  upon  these  points  in  the  North. 
The  literary  opinions  seemed  to  be  the  cause  of  the 
small  number  of  persons  who  changed  their  religion  ; 
and  the  ancient  church  has  hardly  regained  any  pro= 
selytes. 

Count  Frederic  Stolberg,  a  man  of  great  respecta- 
bility, both  from  his  character  and  his  talents,  cele- 
brated from  his  youth  as  a  poet,  as  a  passionate  ad- 
mirer of  antiquity,  and  as  a  translator  of  Homer,  was 
the  first  in  Germ.any  to  set  the  example  of  these  new 
conversions,  and  he  has  had  some  imitators.  The  most 
illustrious  friends  of  the  Count  Stoiberg,  Klopstcck, 
Voss,  and  Jacobi,  separated  themselves  from  him  in 
consequence  of  this  action,  which  seemed  to  disavow 
the  misfortunes  and  the  struggles  which  the  reformed 


CATHOLICISM. 


283 


have  endured  during  three  centuries  ;  nevertheless, 
M  de  Stolberg  has  lately  published  a  History  of  the 
Religion  of  Jesus  Christ,  which  is  calculated  to  merit 
the  approbation  of  all  Christian  communities.  It  is 
the  first  time  that  we  have  seen  the  Catholic  opinions 
defended  in  this  manner  ;  and  if  Count  Stolberg  had 
not  been  educated  as  a  Protestant,  perhaps  he  would 
not  have  had  that  independence  of  mind  which  enables 
him  to  make  an  impression  upon  enlightened  men. 
We  find  in  this  book  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  and  very  interesting  researches  into  the 
different  religions  of  Asia,  which  bear  relation  to 
Christianity.  The  Germans  of  the  North,  even  when 
they  submit  to  the  most  positive  doctrines,  knov/  how 
to  give  them  the  stamp  of  their  philosophy. 

Count  Stolberg,  in  his  publicatnon,  attributed  to 
the  Old  Testament  a  much  greater  importance  than 
Protestant  writers  in  general  assign  to  it.  I  consider 
sacrifices  as  the  basis  of  all  religion,  and  the  death  of 
Abel  as  the  first  type  of  that  sa.crifice  which  forms  the 
groundwork  of  Christianity.  In  whatever  way  we  de- 
cide upon  this  opinion,  it  affords  much  room  for 
thought.  The  greater  part  of  ancient  religions  in- 
stituted human  sacrifices  ;  but  in  this  barbarity  there 
was  something  remarkable,  namely,  the  necessity  of  a 
solemn  expiation.  Nothing,  in  effect,  can  obliterate 
from  the  soul  the  idea,  that  there  is  a  mysterious  effi- 
cacy in  the  blood  of  the  innocent,  and  that  heaven  and 
earth  are  moved  by  it.  ^len  have  always  believed  that 
the  just  could  obtain,  in  this  life,  or  the  ether,  the  par- 
don of  the  guilty.  There  are  some  primitive  ideas  in 
the  human  species  which  re-appear  with  more  or  less 
disfigurement,  in  all  times,  and  among  all  nations. 
These  are  the  ideas  upon  which  we  cannot  grow  weary 
of  reflecting  ;  for  they  assuredly  preserve  some  traces 
of  the  lost  dignities  of  our  nature. 

The  persuasion,  that  the  prayers  and  the  self-devo- 
tion of  the  just  can  save  the  guilty,  is  doubtless  deriv- 
ed from  the  feelings  that  we  experience  in  the  relalions 
of  life  ;  but  nothing  obliges  us,  in  respect  to  religious 
bf iiei^  to  reject  these  inferences.    What  do  we  know 


284 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


better  than  our  feelings  ?  and  why  should  we  pretend 
that  they  are  inapplicable  to  the  truths  of  religion  ? 
What  can  there  be  in  man  but  himself,  and  why,  under 
the  pretext  of  anthropomorphism,  hinder  him  from 
forming  an  image  of  the  Deity  after  his  own  soul  ?  No 
other  messenger,  I  think,  can  bring  him  news  from 
heaven. 

Count  Stolberg  endeavours  to  show,  that  the  tradi- 
tion of  the  fall  of  man  has  existed  among  all  the  na- 
tions of  the  earth,  and  particularly  in  the  East;  and 
that  all  men  have  in  their  hearts  the  remembrance  of 
a  happiness  of  which  they  have  been  deprived.  In  ef- 
fect, there  are  in  the  human  mind  two  tendencies  as 
distinct  as  gravitation  and  attraction  in  the  natural 
world  ;  these  are  the  ideas  of  decay,  and  of  advance 
to  perfection.  One  should  say,  that  we  feel  at  once  a 
regret  for  the  loss  of  some  excellent  qualities  which 
were  gratuitously  conferred  upon  us,  and  a  hope  af 
some  advantages  which  we  may  acquire  by  our  own 
efforts  ;  in  such  a  manner,  that  the  doctrine  of  per- 
fectibility, and  that  of  the  golden  age,  united  and  con- 
founded, excite  at  the  same  time  in  man  grief  for  hav- 
ing lost  these  blessings,  and  emulation  to  recover 
them.  The  sentiment  is  melancholy,  and  the  spirit  is 
daring  ;  and  from  this  reverie  and  this  energy  togeth- 
er, springs  the  true  superiority  of  man;  that  mixture 
of  contemplation  and  of  activity,  of  resignation  and  of 
will,  which  allows  him  to  connect  his  worldly  existence 
with  heaven. 

Stolberg  calls  those  persons  alone  Christians  who 
receive  the  words  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  children;  but  he  bestows  upon  the  signi- 
fication of  these  words  a  philosophical  spirit  which 
takes  away  all  their  dogmatism  and  intolerance  from 
the  Catholic  opinions.  In  what  then  do  they  differ, 
these  religious  men  by  whom  Germany  is  honoured^ 
and  v/hy  should  the  names  of  Catholic  and  Protestant 
divide  them  ?  Why  should  they  be  unfaithful  to  the 
tombs  of  their  ancestors,  by  giving  up  these  names, 
or  by  resuming  them  ?  Has  not  Klopstock  consecra- 
ted his  whole  life  to  the  purpose  of  making  a  fine  po- 


CATHOLICISM. 


285 


em  the  temple  of  the  Gospel  ?  Is  not  Herder,  as  well 
as  Stoiber^,  the  adorer  of  the  Bible  ?  Does  he  tiot 
penetrate  into  all  the  beauties  of  the  primitive  lari- 
giiage,  and  of  those  sentiments  of  celestial  origin 
which  it  expresses  ?  Jacobi — does  he  not  recognise 
the  Divinity  in  ail  the  great  thoughts  of  man  ?  Would 
any  of  these  men  recommend  religion  merely  as  a 
restraint  upon  the  people,  as  an  instrument  of  public 
safety,  as  an  additional  guarantee  in  the  contracts  of  v 
this  world  ?  Do  they  not  all  know  that  eveiy  superior 
mind  has  more  need  of  piety  th  ■  n  the  common  herd  ? 
Frr  the  labour  ordained  by  the  authority  of  society  may 
occupy  and  direct  the  working  class  in  all  the  mo- 
ments  of  iife,  whilst  idle  men  are  incessantly  the  prey 
of  the  passions  and  the  sophistries  that  disturb  exist- 
ence, and  put  every  thing  into  uncertainty. 

It  bss  been  pretended  that  it  was  a  sort  of  frivolity 
in  the  German  writers  to  represent  as  one  of  the  mev- 
its  of  the  Christian  religion,  the  favourable  influence 
that  ic  exercised  over  the  arts,  imagination,  and  poe- 
trv  :  and  the  same  reproach,  with  respect  to  this  point, 
has  been  cast  upon  that  beautiful  work  of  M.  de  Cha- 
teaubriant,  the  Genius  of  Cnristianity.  The  truly 
frivolous  minds  are  those  which  take  rapid  glances  for 
profound  examinations,  and  persuade  themselves  that 
v/e  can  proceed  with  nature  upon  an  exclusive  princi- 
tDle,  and  suppress  the  greater  part  of  the  desires  and 
v/ants  of  the  soul.  One  of  the  great  proofs  of  the  di- 
vinity of  the  Christian  religion  is  its  perfect  analogy 
with  all  our  m.oral  faculties  ;  at  least  it  does  not  ap- 
pear to  me  that  we  can  consider  the  poetry  of  Chris  - 
tianity  under  the  same  aspect  as  the  poetry  of  Pagan- 
ism. 

As  every  thing  was  external  in  the  Pagan  worship, 
the  pomp  of  im.ages  was  there  prodigally  exhibited ; 
the  sanctuary  of  Christianity  being  at  the  bottom  of  the 
heart,  the  poetry  which  it  inspires  must  always  flow 
froma  tenderness.  It  is  not  the  splendour  of  the  Chris- 
tian heaven  that  we  can  oppose  to  Olympus,  but  grief 
and  innocence,  old  age  and  death,  which  assume  a 
character  of  exaltation  and  of  repose,  under  the  shel= 


286 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


ter  of  those  relif^ious  hopes,  whose  wings  are  spread 
over  the  miseries  of  life.  It  is  not  then  true,  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  tbat  the  Protestant  religion  is  unprovided 
with  poetry,  because  the  ritual  of  its  worship  has  less 
eclat  than  that  of  the  Catholics.  Ceremonies,  better 
or  worse,  performed  according  to  the  richness  of 
towns,  and  the  magnificence  of  buildings,  cannot  be 
the  principal  cause  of  the  impression  which  divine 
service  produces;  its  connexion  with  our  internal  feel- 
ings is  that  which  touches  us,  a  connexion  which  can 
subsist  in  simplicity  as  well  as  in  pomp. 

Some  time  ago  I  v/as  present  at  a  church  in  the 
country,  deprived  of  all  ornament :  no  picture  adorn- 
ed its  white  walls  ;  it  was  newly  built,  and  no  remem- 
brance of  a  long  antiquity  rendered  it  venerable :  mu- 
sic itself,  which  the  most  austere  saints  have  placed  in 
heaven  as  the  employment  of  the  happy,  was  hardly 
heard  ;  and  the  psalms  were  sung  by  voices  without  har- 
mony, which  the  labour  of  the  world,  and  the  weight 
of  years,  rendered  hoarse  and  confused  :  but  in  the 
midst  of  this  rustic  assembly,  where  ail  human  splen- 
dour was  deficient,  one  saw  a  pious  man,  whose  heart 
was  profoundly  moved  by  the  mission  which  he  fulfil- 
led*. His  looks,  his  physiognomy,  might  serve  for 
a  modei  to  some  of  the  pictures  with  which  other 
temples  are  adorned  ;  his  accents  made  the  responses 
to  an  ang-elic  concert.  There  was  before  us  a  mortal 
creature  convinced  of  our  immortality,  of  that  of  our 
friends  whom  we  have  lost ;  of  that  of  our  children, 
who  will  survive  us  by  so  little  in  the  career  of  time  ! 
and  the  convincing  persuasion  of  a  pure  heart  appear- 
ed a  new  revelation. 

^.He  descended  from  his  pulpit  to  give  the  communion 
to  the  faithful,  who  live  under  the  shelter  of  his  ex- 
ample. His  son  was  with  him,  a  minister  of  the 
church ;  and,  with  more  youthful  features,  his  coun- 
tenance also,  like  that  of  his  father,  had  a  pious  and 
thoughtful  expression.  Then,  according  to  custom, 
the  father  and  the  son  gave  each  other  the  bread  and 

*  Mr.-  Celerierj  preacher  of  Celig-ny,  near  Geneva. 


CATHOLICISM, 


287 


%vinc,  which,  among  Protestants,  serve  for  the  com- 
memoration  of  the  most  affecting  of  mysteries.  The 
son  only  saw  in  his  father  a  pastor  more  advanced  than 
himself  in  the  religious  state  that  he  had  chosen  to 
adopt ;  the  father  respected  in  his  son  the  holy  calling 
he  had  embraced.  They  mutually  addressed  each 
other  as  they  took  the  sacrament,  in  those  passages  of 
the  Gospel  which  are  calculated  to  unite  in  one  bond 
strangers  and  friends;  and,  b'.th  feeling  in  their  hearts 
the  same  invv-ard  impulses,  they  appeared  to  foiget 
their  personal  relations  in  the  presence  of  the  Divinity, 
before  whom  fathers  and  sons  are  alike  servants  of 
the  tombs,  and  children  of  hope. 

What  poetical  effect,  what  emotion,  the  source  of 
all  poetry,  could  be  wanting  to  the  divine  service  at 
such  a  moment ! 

Men,  whose  affections  are  disinterested,  and  their 
thoughts  religious;  men  who  live  in  the  sanctuary  of 
their  conscience,  and  know  how  to  concentrate  in 
itj  as  in  a  burning-glass,  all  the  rays  of  the  universe ; 
these  men,  I  say,  are  the  priests  of  the  religion  of  the 
soui  ;  and  nothing  ought  ever  to  disunite  them.  An 
abyss  separates  those  who  conduct  themselves  accor- 
ding to  calculation,  and  those  who  are  guided  by  feel- 
ing. All  other  differences  of  opinion  are  nothing; 
this  alone  is  radical.  It  is  possible  that  one  day  a  cry 
of  union  may  be  raised,  and  that  all  Christians  may 
aspire  to  profess  the  same  theological,  political,  and 
moral  religion  ;  but  before  this  miracle  is  accomplish- 
ed, all  men  who  hsive  a  heart,  and  who  obey  it,  ought 
mutually  to  respect  each  other. 


288  RELIGION  AISTD  ENTHUSIASM 

CHAPTER  V. 

Of  the  religious  Disjiosition  called  Mysticism 


The  religious  disposition  called  Mysticism,  is  only 
a  more  inward  manner  of  feeling  and  of  conceiving 
Christianity.  As  in  the  word  Mysticism  is  compre- 
hended that  of  Mystery,  it  has  been  believed  that  the 
Mystics  professed  extraordinary  doctrines,  and  formed 
a  separate  sect.  There  are  no  mysteries  among  them, 
but  the  mysteries  of  sentiment  applied  to  religion; 
and  sentiment  is  at  once  the  clearest,  the  most  simple, 
and  the  most  inexplicable  of  things  :  it  is  necessary, 
at  the  same  time,  to  distinguish  the  T/ieo60pliists,  that 
is  to  say,  those  who  are  busied  with  philosophical  the- 
ology, such  as  Jacob  Boehmen,  St.  Martin,  &c.  from 
the  simple  Mystics  ;  the  former  wish  to  penetrate  the 
secret  of  the  creation ;  the  second  confine  themselves 
to  their  own  hearts.  Many  fathers  of  the  Church, 
Thomas-a-Kempis,  Fenelon,  S:.  Fran^ois-de-Sales, 
&c.;  and  among  the  Protestants  a  great  number  of 
English  and  German  writers,  have  been  Mystics  ;  that 
is  to  say,  men  who  have  made  religion  a  sort  of  affec- 
tion, and  have  infused  it  into  ail  their  thoughts,  as 
well  as  all  their  actions. 

The  religious  feeling,  which  is  the  foundation  of  the 
whole  doctrine  of  the  Mystics,  consists  in  an  internal 
peace  full  of  life.  The  agitations  of  the  passions 
leave  no  calm  ;  the  tranquility  of  a  dry  and  riiOderate 
understanding  destroys  the  animation  of  the  soui ;  it 
is  only  in  religious  feeling  that  we  find  a  perfect  union 
of  repose  and  motion.  This  disposition  is  not  contin- 
ual, I  think,  in  any  man,  however  pious  he  may  be ; 
but  the  remembrance  and  the  hope  of  these  holy  emo- 
tions decide  the  conduct  of  those  who  have  experien- 
ced them.  If  we  consider  the  pains  and  the  pleasures 
of  life  as  the  effect  of  chance,  or  of  a  well-played 


MYSTieiSM. 


289 


gaTiie,  'then  despair  and  joy  ought  to  be  (if  we  may 
use  the  expression)  convulsive  motions.  For  what  a 
chance  is  that  which  disposes  of  our  existence  !  what 
pride,  or  what  respect,  ought  we  not  to  feel,  when  we 
have  been  considering  a  mode  of  action  which  may  in- 
iluence  our  destiny  ?  To  what  torments  of  uncertainty 
must  we  not  be  delivered  up,  if  our  reason  alone  dis- 
posed of  our  fate  in  this  world  ?  But  if  we  believe,  on 
the  contraiy,  that  there  are  but  two  things  important 
to  happiness,  purity  of  intention,  and  resignation  to 
the  event,  whatever  it  may  be,  when  it  no  longer  de- 
pends upon  ourselves  ;  doubtless  many  circumstances 
will  still  make  us  cruelly  suffer,  but  none  will  break 
our  ties  to  Heaven,  To  struggle  against  the  impossi' 
ble,  is  that  which  begets  in  us  the  most  bitter  feelings ; 
and  the  anger  of  Satan  is  nothing  else  than  liberty' 
quarrelling  with  necessity,  and  unable  either lo  subdue 
or  to  submit  to  it. 

The  ruling  opinion  among  the  my.?vtical  Christians 
is  this,  that  the  only  homage  which  can  please  God  is 
that  oi  the  will,  which  he  gave  to  man  :  what  more 
disinterested  offering  can  we,  in  effect,  offer  to  the 
Divinity  ?  Worship,  incense,  hymns,  have  almost  al- 
ways for  tneir  object  the  attainment  of  the  good  things 
of  this  v/orld  ;  and  it  is  on  this  account  that  worldly 
flattery  surrounds  mionarchs  :  but  to  resign  ourselves 
to  the  will  of  God,  to  wish  nothing  but  that  which  he 
wishes,  is  the  most  pure  religious  act  of  which  the 
soul  is  capable.  I'hrice  is  man  sumnsoned  to  yield 
this  resignation  ;  in  youth,  in  manhood,  and  in  age : 
hap/5y  are  they  who  submit  at  first ! 

It  is  pride  in  every  thing  which  puts  the  venom  into 
the  wound  :  the  rebellious  soul  accuses  Heaven  ;  the 
religious  man  suffers  grief  to  act  upon  him  as  the  in- 
tention of  Him  who  sent  it ;  he  makes  use  of  all  the 
means  in  his  power  to  avoid  or  to  console  it ;  but  when 
the  event  is  irrevocable,  the  sacred  characters  of  the 
supreme  Will  are  imprinted  there. 

Wiiat  accidental  malady  can  be  compared  to  age  and 
death  ?  And  yet  almost  ail  men  resign  themselves  to 
age  and  death,  because  they  have  no  defence  against 
VOL.  ir.  An 


290  RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM.  | 

them  :  ^vhence  then  does  it  arise  that  every  one  revolts 
against  particular  misfortunes,  when  all  acquiesce  in 
universal  evil  ?  It  is  because  we  treat  destiny  as  a  erov- 
ernment  which  we  allow  to  make  all  the  world  suffer, 
provided  that  it  grants  no  privileges  to  any  one.  The 
misfortunes  that  we  endure  in  company  with  cur  fel- 
lows are  as  severe,  and  cause  as  much  misery,  as  our 
individual  sufferings  ;  and  yet  they  hardly  ever  excite 
in  us  the  same  rebellious  feeling.  Why'  do  not  men 
teach  themselves  that  they  ought  to  support  that  which 
concerns  them  personally,  as  they  support  the  condi- 
tion of  humanity  in  general  ?  It  is  because  we  fancy 
there  is  injustice  in  our  particular  allotment. — Singular 
pride  of  man  !  to  wish  to  judge  the  Deity  v/ith  that  in- 
strument which  he  has  received  from  hirr-,  !  What  does 
he  know  of  the  feelings  of  another  ?  What  does  he 
know  of  himself?  What  does  he  knov/  at  all,  except 
his  internal  feeling  ?  And  this  feeling,  the  more  in° 
ward  it  is,  the  more  it  contains  the  secret  oi  our  felici- 
ty ;  for  is  it  not  in  the  bottom  of  our  soul  that  we  feel 
happiness  or  unhappiness  ?  Religious  love,  or  self- 
love,  alone  penetrates  to  the  source  of  our  most  hid- 
den thoughts.  Under  the  name  of  religious  love  are 
included  ail  the  disinterested  affections;  and  under 
that  of  self-love  all  egotistical  propensities  :  in  what- 
ever manner  fortune  may  favour  or  thwart  us,  it  is 
always  the  ascendency  of  one  of  these  affections  over 
the  other,  upon  which  calm  enjoyment,  or  uneasy  dis- 
quiet, depends. 

It  is  to  be  wanting  entirely  in  respect  for  Providence, 
as  it  appears  to  me,  to  suppose  ourselves  a  prey  to 
those  phantoms  which  v/e  call  events  :  their  reality 
consists  in  their  effect  upon  the  soul;  and  there  is  a 
perfect  equality  between  all  situations  and  all  circum- 
stances, not  viewed  externally,  but  judged  according  to 
their  influence  upon  religious  improvement.  If  each 
of  us  would  attentively  examine  the  texture  of  his 
life,  we  should  find  there  two  tissues  perfectly  distinct : 
the  one  which  appears  entirely  subject  to  natural  cau- 
ses and  effects  ;  the  other,  whose  mysterious  tendency 
is  not  intelligible  except  ]3y  dint  of  time.    It  is  like  a 


^iYSTicis:\r. 


291 


suit  of  tapestry  hangiags,  v/hose  figures  are  worked 
in  on  the  wrong  side<  until,  being  put  in  a  proper  po- 
alLion,  we  can  luciic  of  their  effect.  We  end  by  per- 
ceiving;? even  i;:!  this  iife.  why  we  have  isutrered;  why 
we  have  not  obtained  Vv'hat  we  desired.  The  meliora- 
tion of  our  own  hearts  reveals  to  us  the  benevolent  in- 
tention Vs  hich  subjecte:  :  pam  ;  for  the  prosperi- 
ties of  the  earth  ther.i^v-.voc  .vould  have  something- 
dreadful  about  h:  :  r..  if  they  fell  upon  us  after  we  had 
been  guilty  of  g.  e^..-  faults  :  v/e  should  then  think  our- 
selves abandoned  by  the  hand  of  Him,  '.vi;o  d.  /ivered 
us  up  to  happiness  here  belovr,  as  to  our  sole  fu  urity. 
Either  every  thing  is  chance,  or  there  is  no  such 
thing  in  the  world  ;  and,  if  there  is  not,  religious  feel= 
ing  consists  in  making  ourselves  harmonize  vriJi  the 
universal  order,  in  spite  of  th-'.  ?--';rit  cf  rvbeliion  and 
of  usurpation  with  which       r  i;;^::::;;  each  of 

us  individually.  Ail  doctrines,  and  all  n  _  :  .  ^  ^vor- 
ship,  are  the  ditrerent  forms  which  this  :  h  .  ^  feel- 
ing has  assumed  according  to  times  anh  c:  Uiijtries ;  it 
may  be  depraved  by  fear,  although  it  is  built  upon  con- 
fident hope;  but  it  ahva  s  consists  in  tne  convicronj 
that  there  is  nothing  accidental  in  the  events  of  life, 
and  that  our  sole  manner  of  infiuencinK  ou'  fatc  lies 
in  our  internal  commerce  witii  ourselves.  Reason  is 
not  the  less  operative  in  all  that  relates  to  the  conduct 
of  life;  but  when  this  houstkeejier  of  existe7ice  has 
managed  matters  as  well  as  it  can,  the  bottom  of  our 
heart  is  after  all  the  seat  of  iove;  and  that  which  13 
called  Mysticism,  is  tnis  love  in  its  most  perfect  pu- 
rity. 

The  elevation  of  the  soul  towards  its  Creator  is  the 
supreme  act  of  worship  among  the  Christian  Mystics; 
but  they  do  not  address  the  Deity  to  pray  for  this  or 
that  worldly  advantage.  A  French  writer,  who  has 
some  sublimely  bright  passages,  ^I.  de  Saint-iNIartin. 
has  said,  that  prayer  -vas  the  breathing  cf  the  soul. 
The  IVIystics  are,  for  the  most  part,  convinced,  that 
an  answer  is  given  to  this  prayer;  and  that  the  grand 
revelation  of  Christianity  may  be  in  some  de£rre"e  re- 
newed in  the  soui.  everv  tim.e  that  i^  exaUs  itself  with 


292 


EELIGIGN  AXD  ENTHUSIASM. 


fervour  towards  Heaven.  When  we  believe  that  there 
no  longer  exists  any  immediate  commimicatioD  be- 
tween the  Supreme  Being  and  man,  prayer  is  only  a 
Hionologue,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression  ;  but 
it  becomes  an  act  much  more  beneficial,  when  we  are 
persuaded  that  the  Divinity  makes  himself  sensibly 
felt  at  the  bottom  of  our  hearts.  In  fact,  it  does  not 
appear  to  me  possible  to  deny,  that  there  are  emotions 
%vithin  us  which  do  not,  in  the  least,  take  their  origin 
from  external  things,  and  which  soothe  and  support  us 
■without  the  possibility  of  our  attributing  them  to  the 
ordinary  concatenation  of  the  events  of  life. 

Men  who  have  introduced  self-love  into  a  doctrine 
entirely  founded  on  the  renunciation  of  self-love,  have 
taken  advantage  of  these  unexpected  instances  of  di= 
Tine  support,  to  deceive  themselves  with  illusions  of 
every  description ;  they  have  fancied  that  they  were 
elect  persons,  or  prophets ;  they  have  believed  in  vi- 
sions;  in  a  word  they  have  become  superstitious  in 
looking  at  themselves.  What  must  not  be  the  power 
of  human  pride,  when  it  insinuates  itself  into  the 
heart,  under  the  very  shape  of  humility  !  But  it  is  not 
the  less  true,  that  there  is  nothing  more  simple  and 
•move  pure  than  the  connexions  of  the  soul  with  the 
Deity,  such  as  they  are  conceived  by  those  whom  it  is 
"the  custom  to  call  Mystics;  that  is  to  say,  th«  Chris- 
tians who  introduce  love  into  religion. 

In  ^reading  the  spiritual  works  of  Fenelon,  who  is. 
not  softened?  wiiere  can  we  find  so  much  knowledge, 
consolation,  indulgence  ?  There  no  fanaticism,  no  aus- 
terities but  those  of  virtue,  no  intolerance,  no  exclu" 
Vion  appear.  The  differences  of  Christian  communi- 
lies  cannot  be  felt  at  that  height  which  is  above  all  the 
accidental  forms  created  and  destroyed  by  time. 

He  w^ould  be  very  rash,  assuredly,  who  was  to  haz= 
j\rd  foreseeing  any  thing  relating  to  such  important 
matters :  nevertheless,  I  will  venture  to  say,  that  ev- 
ery thing  tends  to  establish  the  triumph  of  religious 
feeling  in  the  soul.  Calculation  has  gained  such  an 
rmpire  over  the  affairs  of  the  world,  that  those  who 
do  not  embrace  it  are  naturally  thrown  into  the  oppo- 


MVSTICISM. 


293 


jice  extreme.  It  is  for  luis  reasoi]  th^it  solitary  think- 
ers, from  one  end  of  the  rvorld  to  the  other,  endeavour 
to  assemble  in  one  focus  the  scattered  ravs  of  litera- 
ture, philosophy,  and  religion. 

It  is  generally  feared  that  the  doctrine  of  religious 
resignation,  called  Quietism  in  the  last  ages,  will  dis- 
gust us  with  the  necessary  actinj:y  of  this  life.  But 
nature  takes  care  to  rai^e  individual  passions  in  us  suf- 
ficiently to  prevent  our  entertaining  much  fears  of  the 
sentiment  that  is  to  tranquilize  them. 

We  neither  dispose  of  our  birth,  nor  of  our  death  ;- 
and  more  than  three  fourths  of  our  destiny  is  decid= 
ed  by  these  t^vo  events.  No  one  can  change  the  prim° 
itive  effects  of  his  nativity,  of  his  country,  of  his  peri- 
od. &c.  Xo  one  can  acquire  the  shape  or  the  genius 
that  he  has  not  gained  from  nature  ;  and  of  how 
many  more  commanding  circumstances  still  is  not  life 
composed  ?  If  our  fate  consists  of  a  hundred  different 
lots,  there  are  ninety  =nine  which  do  not  depend  upon 
ourselves  ;  and  all  the  fury  of  our  will  turns  upon  the 
weak  portion  which  yet  seems  to  be  in  our  favour. 
Now  the  action  of  the  will  itself  upon  this  weak  por- 
tion is  singularly  incomplete.  The  only  act  of  liberty  of 
the  man  who  always  attains  his  end,  is  the  fulfilment  of 
duty  :  the  issue  of  all  other  resolutions  depends  entirely 
upon  accidents,  over  which  prudence  itself  has  no 
command.  The  greater  part  of  mankind  does  not  ob= 
tain  that  w^hich  it  vehemently  wishes  ;  and  prosperity 
itself,  when  it  ccraes;  often  comes  from  an  unexpected 
quaner. 

The  doctrine  of  Mysticism  passes  for  a  severe  doc- 
trine, because  it  enjoins  us  to  discard  selfishness,  aiid 
this  with  reason  appears  very  difficult  to  be  done.  But, 
in  fact,  Mysticism  is  the  gentlest  of  all  doctrines  ;  it 
consists  in  this  proverb,  iiiake  a  virtue  of  Jiecefssity, 
ISIaking  a  virtue  of  necessity,  in  the  religious  sense  is 
to  attribute  to  Providence  the  government  of  the 
"vvorld,  and  to  firid  an  inward  consolation  in  t:  is 
thought.  The  Mvstic  writers  exact  nothii  g  bejcnd 
the  line  of  duty,  such  as  honest  merj  ha.ve  marked 
It  out  ;  they  do  not  enjoin  us  to  create  tvoubies  lor 


294 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


ourselves  ;  they  think  that  man  ought  neither  to  invite 
affliction,  nor  be  impatient  under  it  when  it  arrives. 
What  evil  can  result  then  from  this  belief,  which 
unites  the  calm  of  stoicism  with  the  sensibility  of 
Christians  ?  "  It  prevents  us  from  loving,"  some  one 
may  say.  Ah  ■  it  is  not  religious  exaltation  which 
chills  the  soul  :  a  single  interest  of  vanity  has  done 
more  to  annihilate  the  alfections  than  ?ny  kind  of  au- 
stere opinion  :  even  the  deserts  of  the  Thebaid  do  not 
weaken  the  power  of  sentiment ;  and  nothing  prevents 
us  from  loving  but  the  misery  of  the  heart. 

A  very  weighty  inconvenience  is  falsely  attributed 
to  Mysticism.  It  has  been  said  that  it  renders  us  too 
indulgent  in  relation  to  actions,  by  referring  religion 
to  the  internal  impressions  of  the  soul  ;  and  that  it  in- 
duces men  to  resign  themselves  to  their  defects  as  to 
inevitable  events.  Nothing,  assuredly,  would  be  more 
contrary  to  the  Gospel  than  this  manner  of  interpre- 
tine  submission  to  the  will  of  God.  If  we  admitted 
that  religious  feeling,  in  any  respect,  dispensed  with 
Acticyn,  there  would  not  only  result  from  this  a  crowd 
of  hypocrites,  who  pretended  that  we  must  not  judge 
them  by  the  vulgar  proofs  of  religion,  which  are  cal- 
led Vvoi'ks,  aDd  that  their  secret  communications  with 
the  Beiry  are  of  an  order  greatly  superior  to  the  ful- 
fil entof  duties  ;  but  there  would  be  also  hypocrites 
■with  tiieinselves  ;  and  we  should  destroy  in  this  man- 
ner the  power  of  remorse.  In  fact,  who  has  not  some 
momerts  of  religious  tenderness,  however  limited  his 
imagination  may  be  ?  Who  has  not  sometimes  prayed 
Tviii  fervour  ?  x\nd  if  this  was  sufficient  for  us  to  be 
released  from  tne  strict  observance  of  duty,  the  great- 
er \  fi' t  of  poets  might  fancy  themselves  more  religious 
that  bt.  Vincent  de  Paul. 

But  tne  Mystics  have  been  wrongfully  accused  of 
this  mauiicr  of  thinkuig.  Their  writings  and  their 
lives  atttSL,  that  they  are  as  regular  in  their  moral  con- 
duct as  those  vrho  are  subjected  to  the  practices  of  the 
most  severe  mode  of  worship  :  that  which  is  called  in- 
dulgence in  the't  5  is  the  penetration  which  makes  us 
aiiaiyse        li^ture  oi  mau;  instead  of  coniinhig  our* 


MYSTICISM, 


295 


selves  to  the  injunction  of  obedience.  The  Mystics, 
always  considerin.^  the  bottom  of  the  heart,  have  the 
air  of  pardoning  its  mistakes,  because  they  study  the 
causes  of  them. 

-  The  Alystics,  and  almost  all  Christians,  have  been 
frequently  accused  of  a  tendency  towards  passive 
obedience  to  authority,  whatever  it  may  be  :  and  it  has 
been  pretended,  that  submission  to  the  will  of  Goci,  ill 
understood,  leads  a  little  too  often  to  submission  to 
the  will  of  man.  Nothing,  however,  is  less  like  con- 
descension to  power  tna.n  religious  resignation.  ^Yith- 
oui  doubt  it  may  console  us  in  slavery,  but  it  is  be  = 
cr.use  it  then  gives  to  the  sou4  all  the  virtues  of  inde- 
pendence. To  be  indifferent  by  religion  to  the  liberty 
or  the  oppression  of  mankind,  would  be  to  mistake 
weakness  of  character  for  Christian  humility,  and  no 
two  things  are  more  different.  Christian  humility 
bends  before  the  poor  and  the  unhappy;  and  weakness 
ef  cnaracter  always  keeps  well  with  guiltj  because  it  is 
powerful  in  the  world. 

In  the  times  of  chivalry,  when  Christianity  had  more 
ascendency,  it  never  demanded  the  sacrifice  of  hon- 
our  ;  but,  for  citizens,  justice  and  liberty  are  also  hon- 
our. God  confounds  human  pride,  but  not  the  digni- 
ty of  the  human  race  ;  for  this  pride  consists  in  the 
opinion  we  have  of  ourselves ;  and  this  dignity  in  our 
respect  for  the  rights  of  others.  Religions  men  have 
an  inclination  not  to  meddle  v*ith  the  affairs  of  this 
world,  without  being  compelled  to  do  so  by  some 
manifest  duty  ;  and  it  must  be  confessed,  that  so  many 
passions  are  excited  by  political  interests,  that  it  is 
rare  to  mix  in  politics  v,ithout  having  to  reproach  our- 
selves with  any  wrong  action  :  but  when  tiie  cour-age 
of  conscience  is  called  forth,  there  is  nothing  which, 
can  contend  with  it. 

Of  ail  nations,  that  which  has  the  greatest  incJina- 
ti.  u  to  Mysticism  is  the  German.  Before  Luther,  many 
£.ut.;ors,  among  whom  we  must  cite  Taultr,  had  writ' 
ten  upon  religion  in  tiiis  sense.  Since  Luther,  the  Mo- 
ravians have  snown  this  disposition  more  than  any  oth- 
er ssct.    Tovraids  tae  end  of  the  eighteenth  century^ 


296  RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM, 


Lavater  combated  with  great  strength  the  system  oi 
rational  Christianity,  which  the  theologians  of  Berlin 
liad  supported  ;  and  his  manner  of  feeling  religion  is, 
in  many  respects,  completely  like  that  of  Fenelon.. 
Several  lyric  poets,  from  Klopstock  down  to  our  dayst 
have  a  taint  of  Mysticism  in  their  compositions.  The 
Protestant  religion,  which  reigns  in  the  North,  does 
not  satisfy  the  imagination  of  the  Germans  ;  and  Catho- 
licism being  opposed  by  its  nature  to  philosophical  re- 
searches, the  religious  and  thinking  among  the  Ger- 
mans were  necessarily  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  a 
method  of  feeling  religion,  which  might  be  applied  to 
every  form  of  worship.  Besides  idealism  in  philoso- 
phy has  much  analogy  with  Mysticism  in  religion  ; 
the  one  places  all  the  reality  of  things  in  this  world  in 
thought,  and  the  other  ail  the  reality  of  things  in 
heaven  in  feeling. 

The  Mystics  penetrate^  with  an  inconceivable  saga- 
city, into  every  thing  which  gives  birth  in  the  human 
mind  to  fear  or  hope,  to  suffering  or  to  happiness  ;  and  no- 
S£ct  ascends  as  they  do  to  the  origin  of  emotions  in  the 
soul.  There  is  so  much  interest  in  this  sort  of  in- 
quiry, that  even  those  who  are  otherwise  of  moderate 
understanding  enough,  when  they  have  the  least  mysti=, 
cal  inclination  in  their  hearts,  attract  and  captivate  by 
their  conversation,  as  if  they  were  endowed  with  tran- 
scendent genius.  That  which  makes  society  so  subject 
to  ennui,  is,  that  the  greater  portion  of  those  with 
whom  we  live,  talk  only  of  external  objects  ;  and  upon 
this  class  of  things  the  want  of  the  spirit  of  conversa- 
tion is  very  perceptible.  But  Religious  Mysticism  in- 
cludes so  extensive  a  know  ledge,  that  it  gives  a  decid- 
ed moral  superiority  to  those  who  have  not  received  it 
from  nature  :  they  apply  themselves  to  the  study  of 
the  human  heart,  which  is  the  first  of  sciences,  and 
give  themselves  as  much  trouble  to  understand  the 
passions,  that  they  may  lull  them  to  rest,  as  the  men 
of  the  world  do  to  turn  them  to  advantage. 

Without  dt  ubt,  great  faults  may  still  appear  in  the 
character  of  those  whose  doctrine  is  the  most  pure  ;  but 
is  it  to  their  doctrine  that  we  should  refer  them  t  We 


MYSTICIS:^!. 


297 


pay  especial  honiu>e  to  religion  by  the  e:.acdons  ^ve 
make  from  all  religious  men  the  moment  \ve  know 
they  are  so.  "We  call  them  inconsistent  if  they  com- 
mit any  transgressions;,  or  have  any  weaknesses  ;  and 
yet  nothing  can  entirely  change  the  conckucns  of  hu- 
manity. If  religion  always  conferred  moral  perfec- 
tion upon  us,  and  if  virtue  always  led  to  happiness, 
freedom  of  v.dll  would  no  longer  exist :  for  the  mo- 
tives which  acted  upon  volition,  would  be  too  pov/er- 
ful  for  liberty. 

Dogmatical  religion  is  a  commandment ;  mystical 
religion  is  built  upon  the  inward  experience  of  our 
heart:  the  mode  of  preaching  m.ust  necessarily  be 
jnfiuenced  by  the  direction  which  the  ministers  of  the 
Gospel  may  take  in  this  respect ;  and  perhaps  it  would 
be  desirable  for  us  to  perceive  in  their  discourses 
more  of  the  influence  of  those  feelincrs  which  beein  to 
penetrate  all  hearts.  In  Germany,  vrhere  every  sect 
abounds.  Zollikoffer.  Jerusalem.,  and  many  others,  have 
gained  tiiemselves  a  great  reputation  by  the  eloquence 
of  the  pulpit ;  and  we  may  read  upon  all  subjects  a 
quantity  of  sermions  which  conta.in  excellent  things  : 
nevertheless,  although  it  is  very  wise  to  teach  miorali- 
ty,  it  is  still  m.ore  important  to  inspire  motives  to  be 
moral ;  and  these  motives  consist,  above  every  thing, 
in  religious  emotion.  Almost  all  men  are  nearly 
equally  informed  as  to  the  incon^  eniencies  and  the  ad- 
vantages of  vice  and  virtue  ;  but  that  v^'nich  all  the 
^yorld  vrants,  is  the  strengthening  of  the  internal  dis= 
position  with  which  vre  struggle  against  the  violent  in= 
clinations  of  our  nature. 

If  the  v.'hole  business  was  to  argue  vrell  with  man= 
kind,  why  should  those  parts  of  the  service,  vrhich 
are  only  songs  and  ceremonies,  lead  us  so  m.uch  more 
than  sermons  to  meditation  and  to  piety  ?  Tire  great= 
er  part  of  preachers  confine  themselves  to  declaiming 
against  evil  inclinations,  instead  ot  showing  how  we 
yieia  to  tnem,  and  how  we  resist  them  ;  the  greater 
part  of  pieacners  are  judges  who  direct  the  trial  of 
men  :  but  the  priests  of  God  ought  to  tell  us  wnal 
they  suffer  and  wJiat  they  hope  :  hew  they  have  mod-- 


298 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


ified  their  characters  by  certain  thoughts  ;  in  a  v/ord^ 
we  expect  from  them  the  secret  memoirs  of  the  soul 
in  its  relations  with  the  Deity. 

Prohibitory  laws  are  no  more  sufficient  for  the  gov- 
ernment of  individuals  than  of  states.  The  social  sys- 
tem is  obliged  to  put  animated  interests  into  action,  to 
give  aliment  to  human  life  :  it  is  the  same  with  the  re» 
ligious  instructors  of  man;  they  can  only  preserve 
him  from  his  passions  by  exciting  a  living  and  pure 
ecstacy  in  his  heart  :  the  pasblons  are  much  better,  in 
many  respects,  than  a  servile  apathy ;  and  nothing- 
can  moderate  them  but  a  profound  sentiment,  the  en- 
joyments, of  which  we  ought  to  describe  if  we  can, 
with  as  much  force  and  truth  as  we  have  introdu- 
ced into  our  descriptions  of  the  charm  of  earthly  af- 
fectionSo 

Whatever  men  of  wit  may  have  said,  there  exists  a 
natural  alliance  between  religion  and  genius.  The 
Mystics  have  almost  all  a  bias  towards  poetry  and 
the  fine  arts  ;  their  ideas  are  in  accord  with  true  su- 
periority of  every  sort,  while  incredulous  and  worldly- 
minded  mediocrity  is  its  enemy  : — that  mediocrity 
cannot  endure  those  who  wish  to  penetrate  into  the 
soul  :  as  it  has  put  its  best  qualities  on  the  surface,  to 
touch  the  core  is  to  discover  its  wretchedness. 

The  philosophy  of  Idealism,  the  Christianity  of 
Mysticism,  and  the  poetry  of  nature,  have,  in  many 
respects,  all  the  same  end  and  the  same  origin  :  these 
philosophers,  these  Christians,  and  these  poets,  all 
unite  in  one  common  desire.  They  would  wish  to 
substitute  for  the  factitious  system  of  society,  not  the 
ignorance  of  barbarous  times,  but  an  intellectual  cul- 
ture, which  leads  us  back  to  simplicity  by  the  very 
perfection  of  knowledge  :  they  would,  in  short,  wish 
to  make  energetic  and  reflecting,  sincere  and  gene- 
rous men,  out  of  all  these  characters  without  dignity  ; 
these  minds  without  ideas  ;  these  jesters  without  gaie- 
ty ;  these  Epicureans  Avithout  imagination,  who,  for 
want  of  better,  are  called  the  human  species. 


VATS.  29r; 

CHAPTER  VL 

Of  Fain. 

J^HAT  axiom  of  the  Mystics  has  been  much  bla* 
med,  which  asserts  that  Jiain  is  a  good.  Some  phi- 
losophers of  antiquity  have  pronounced  it  not  an  evil  ; 
it  is,  however,  much  more  difficult  to  consider  it  with 
indifference  than  with  hope.  In  effect,  if  we  were  not 
convinced  that  pain  was  the  means  of  moral  improve- 
ment to  what  an  excess  of  irritation  would  it  not  carry 
us?  Vv'hy  in  that  case  summon  us  into  life  to  be  con- 
sumed by  pain  ?  Why  concentrate  ail  the  torments 
and  all  the  wonders  of  the  universe  in  a  weak  heart, 
which  fears  and  which  desires  ?  Yyuy  give  us  the 
power  of  loving,  and  snatch  from  us  at  last  all  that 
we  hold  dear?  In  short,  wny  biing  us  to  death,  ter- 
rific death  ?  When  the  illusion  of  the  world  has  made  us 
forget  it,  how  is  it  recalled  to  our  minds  1  It  is  in  the 
midst  of  the  splendours  of  this  world  that  death  un- 
furls his  fatal  ensign. 

Cosi  trapassa  al  trapassar  d'  iin  giorno 
Delia  vita  mortal  il  fiore  e'l  verde  ; 
Ne  perche  f?xcia  mdietro  April  ritorno, 
Si  rinfiora  elia  Mai  ne  si  rmverde.* 

V/e  have  seen  at  a  fete  that  Princess,!  who,  although 
tlie  mother  of  eight  children,  still  united  the  charm  of 
perfect  beauty  to  all  the  dignity  of  the  maternal  charac- 
ter. She  opened  the  ball  ;  and  the  melodious  sounds 
of  music  gave  a  signal  for  the  moments  consecrated  to 

*  "  Thus  withers  in  a  day  the  verdure  and  the  flower  of  mor- 
tal  life  ;  it  is  in  vain  that  the  month  of  spring  returns  in  its 
season  ;  life  never  resumes  her  verdure  or  her  flowers  /' — 
Verses  of  Tasso,  simg  in  the  gardens  of  Armida. 

X  The  Princess  Faulma  of  Schwartzenberg. 


300 


RELIGION  AXD  EOTHUSIA32^I. 


joy.  Flowers  adorned  her  lovely  head  ;  and  dress  and 
the  dance  must  have  recalled  to  her  the  first  days  of 
her  youth  ;  nevertheless,  she  appeared  already  to  fear 
the  very  pleasures  to  which  so  much  success  mi.^ht 
have  attached  her.  Alas  1  in  what  a  manner  was  this 
vague  presentiment  realized  1 — On  a  sudden  the  num- 
berless torches,  which  restored  the  splendour  of  the 
day,  are  about  to  be  changed  into  devourin.^^  flames, 
and  the  most  dreadful  sufferings  will  take  place  of  the 
gorgeous  luxury  of  the  fete.^ — -What  a  contrast  !  and 
who  can  grow  weary  of  reflecting  u[)on  it?  No,  never 
have  the  grandeur  and  the  inibery  of  man  so  closely 
approached  each  other  ;  ai^d  our  fickle  thoughts,  so 
easily  diverted  from  the  dark  threatenings  of  futurity, 
have  been  struck  in  the  same  hour  with  ail  the  briUiant 
and  terrible  images  which  destiny,  in  general,  scatters 
at  a  distance  from  each  other  over  the  path  of  time. 

No  accident,  however,  had  reached  her,  who  would 
not  have  died  but  for  her  own  choice.  She  was  in 
safety;  she  might  have  renewed  the  thread  of  thai  life 
of  virtue  which  she  had  been  leading  for  fifteen  years  ; 
but  one  of  her  daughters  was  sail  in  danger,  and  the 
most  delicate  and  timid  of  beings  precipitates  herself 
into  the  midst  of  flames  which  v/ould  have  made  war- 
riors recoil.  Every  mother  would  have  felt  what  she 
did  !  But  who  tninks  she  has  sufficient  strength  to  im- 
itate her  ?  Who  can  reckon  so  much  upon  their  soulj 
as  not  to  fear  those  shudderings  which  nature  bids  us 
feel  at  the  sight  of  a  violent  death  ?  A  woman  braved 
them  ;  her  hand  seized  that  of  her  daughter,  her  hand 
saved  her  daughter  ;  and  although  the  fatal  blow  then 
struck  her,  her  last  act  was  maternal ;  her  last  act  pre- 
served the  object  of  her  affection ;  it  was  at  this  sub- 
lime instant  that  she  appeared  before  God  ;  and  it  was 
impossibie  to  recognise  v/hat  remained  of  ner  upon 
earth  except  by  the  impression  on  a  medal,  given  by 
her  children,  which  also  marked  the  place  where  this 
angel  perished.  Ah  !  all  that  is  horrible  in  this  pic- 
ture is  softened  by  the  rays  of  a  celestial  glory,  i  his 
generous  Paulina  will  hereafter  be  the  saint  of  mo- 
thers ;  and  if  their  looks  do  not  dare  to  rise  to  Heaverii 


301 


they  will  rest  them  upon  her  sweet  figure,  and  will 
ask  her  to  implore  the  blessing  of  God  upon  their 
children. 

If  we  had  gone  so  far  as  to  dry  up  the  source  of  re- 
ligion upon  earth,  what  should  we  say  to  those  who 
see  the  purest  of  victims  fall  ?  What  should  we  say  to 
those  who  loved  this  victim  ?  and  with  what  despair, 
with  what  horror  for  Fortune  and  her  perfidious  se- 
crets, would  not  the  soul  be  filled  ? 

Not  only  what  we  see,  but  what  we  imagine,  would 
strike  our  minds  like  a  thunderbolt,  if  there  was  no- 
thing within  us  free  from  the  power  of  chance.  Have 
not  men  lived  in  an  obscure  dungeon,  where  every  mo- 
ment was  a  pang,  where  there  was  no  air  but  what  was 
sufficient  for  them  to  begin  suffering  again  ?  Death, ac- 
cording to  the  incredulous,  will  deliver  us  from  every 
thing  ;  but  do  they  know  what  death  is  ?  do  they  know 
whether  this  death  is  annihilation  ?  or  into  what  a  laby- 
rinth of  terrors  reflection  without  a  guide  may  drag 
us  ? 

If  an  honest  man  (and  the  events  of  a  life  exposed 
to  the  passions  may  bring  on  this  misfortune) — if  an 
honest  man,  I  say,  had  done  an  irreparable  injury  to 
an  innocent  being,  how  could  he  ever  be  consoled  for 
it  without  the  assistance  of  religious  expiation  ?  When 
his  victim  is  in  the  coffin,  to  whom  must  he  address 
his  sorrows  if  there  is  no  communication  v/ith  that 
victim  ;  if  God  himself  does  not  make  the  dead  hear 
the  lamentations  of  the  living  ;  if  the  sovereign  Medi- 
ator for  man  did  not  s?.y  to  Grief, — It  is  enough  ;  and 
to  Repentance, — You  are  forgiven  ? — It  is  thought 
that  the  chief  advantage  of  religion  is  its  efficacy  in 
awakening  remorse  ;  but  it  is  also  very  frequently  the 
means  of  lulling  remorse  to  sleep.  There  are  souls 
in  which  the  past  is  predom.inant  ;  there  are  those 
which  regret  tears  to  pieces  like  an  active  death,  and 
upon  which  memory  falls  as  furiously  as  a  vulture  ;  it 
is  for  them  that  religion  operates  as  the  alleviation  of 
remorse. 

An  idea  always  the  same,  and  yet  assuming  a  thou- 
sand different  dresses,  fatigues  at  once,  by  its  agitation 
VOL.  ri.  '      '  B  b 


302 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


and  its  monotony.  The  fine  arts,  which  redoubled  the 
power  of  imagination,  augment  with  it  the  vivacity  of 
pain.  Nature  herself  becomes  importunate  when  the 
soul  is  no  longer  in  harmony  with  her  ;  her  tranquili« 
ty,  which  we  once  found  so  sweet,  irritates  us  like  in- 
difference ;  the  wonders  of  the  universe  gt-ow  dim 
as  v/e  gaze  upon  them  ;  all  looks  like  a  vision,  even  in 
mid-day  splendour.  Night  troubles  us,  as  if  the 
darkness  concealed  some  secret  misfortune  of  our  own  ; 
and  the  shining  sun  appears  to  insult  the  mourning 
of  our  hearts.  Whither  shall  we  fly  then  from  so  many 
sufferings  ?  Is  it  to  death  ?  But  the  anxiety  of  happi- 
ness makes  us  doubt  whether  there  is  rest  in  the  tomb  ; 
and  despair,  even  for  atheists,  is  as  a  shadowy  revelation 
of  an  eternity  of  pains.  What  shall  %ve  do  then,  what 
shall  we  do,  O  my  God  1  if  we  cannot  throw  ourselves 
into  your  paternal  bosom  ?  He  who  first  called  God 
our  father,  knew  more  of  the  human  heart  than  the 
most  profound  thinkers  of  the  age. 

It  is  not  true  that  religion  narrows  the  heart ;  it  is 
still  less  so,  that  the  severity  of  religious  principles  is 
to  be  feared.  I  only  know  one  sort  of  severity  which 
is  to  be  dreaded  by  feeling  minds  ;  it  is  that  of  the  men 
of  the  world.  These  are  the  persons  who  conceive 
nothing,  who  excuse  nothing  that  is  involuntary  ;  the?? 
have  made  a  human  heart  according  to  their  own  wiii, 
in  order  to  judge  it  at  their  leisure.  We  might  ad- 
dress to  them  what  was  said  to  Messrs.  de  Port  Royal, 
who  otherwise  deserved  much  admiration  :  "  It  is  easy 
"  for  you  to  jcomprehened  the  msan  you  have  created  ; 
"  but,  as  to  the  real  being,  you  know  him  not." 

The  greater  part  of  men  of  the  world  are  accus- 
tomed to  frame  certain  dilemmas  upon  ail  the  unhappy 
situations  in  life,  in  order  to  disencumber  themselves 
as  much  as  possible  from  the  compassion  which  these 
situations  demand  from  them. — There  are  but  two 
«  parts  to  take/'  they  say  :  "  you  must  be  entirely  one 
"  thing,  or  the  other;  you  must  support  what  you  can- 
"  not  prevent  ;  you  must  console  yourself  for  what  is 
irrevocable."  Or  rather,  "He  who  wishes  an  end 
"  wishes  the  means  also ;  you  rau?t  do  every  thing  to 


t)F  PAIN. 


3Qi 


«  presei-ve  that  v/hich  you  cannot  do  without,"  Sec.  and 
a  thousand  other  axioms  of  this  sort,  which  all  of  them 
have  the  form  of  proverbs,  and  whicn  are  in  effect  the 
code  of  vulgar  wisdonv.  But  what  connexion  is  there 
between  these  axioms  and  the  severe  afflictions  of  the 
heart  ?  Ail  this  serves  very  well  in  the  common  affairs 
of  life  ;  but  how  applys  such  counsels  to  moral  pains  ? 
They  all  vary  according  to  the  individual,  and  are  com- 
posed of  a  thousand  different  circumstances,  unknown 
to  every  one  but  our  most  intimate  friend,  if  there  is 
one  who  knows  how  to  identify  himself  with  us.  Eve- 
ry character  is  almost  a  new  world  for  him  who  can 
observe  it  with  sagacity  ;  and  I  know  not  in  the  science 
of  the  human  heart  one  general  idea  which  is  com- 
pletely applicable  to  particular  examples. 

The  language  of  religion  can  alone  suit  every  situa- 
tion and  every  mode  of  feeling.  When  we  read  the 
reveries  of  J.  J.  Rousseau,  that  eloquent  picture  of  a 
being,  preyed  upon  by  an  imagination  stronger  than 
himself,  I  ha\'e  asked  myself  bow  a  man  v.'hose  un- 
derstanding was  formed  by  the  world,  and  a  religious 
recluse,  would  have  endeavoured  to  console  Rousseau  ? 
He  would  have  complained  of  being  hated  and  perse- 
cuted ;  he  would  have  called  himself  the  object  of 
universal  envy,  and  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy,  v/hicb 
extended  even  from  the  people  to  tiieir  monarchs  ;  he 
would  have  pretended  that  ail  his  friends  had  betrayed 
him ;  and  that  the  very  services,  which  they  had  ren- 
dered him,  were  so  many  snares :  what  tnen  would 
the  man  of  an  understanding  formed  by  society  have 
answered  to  ail  these  compiaints  ? 

You  strangely  exaggerate,"  he  v/ould  have  said, 
"  the  effect  that  you  fancy  you  produce  ;  you  are  dotibt- 
"  less  a  very  distinguished  person  ;  but,  however,  as 
"  each  of  us  has  his  own  affairs,  and  also  his  own  ideas, 

a  book  does  not  fill  all  heads;  the  events  of  war  or 
♦  of  peace,  and  still  less  interests,  but  whicn  person- 

ally  concern  ourselves,  occupy  us  much  more  than 
■  any  writer,  however  celebrated  he  may  be.    Ti  ey 

have  banished  you,  it  is  true  ;  but  all  countries  ought 
"  to  be  alike  to  a  philosopher  such  as  you  are ;  ana  to 


304 


rp:ligion  and  entiiusiassi. 


v/hat  purpose  indeed  can  the  morals  and  the  relFgioK^ 
which  you  develope  so  well  in  your  writings,  be 
"  turned,  if  you  are  notable  to  support  the  reverses 
which  have  befallen  you. 

"  Without  doubt  there  are  some  persons  who  envy 
"  you  among  the  fraternity  of  learned  men  ;  but  this 
"  cannot  extend  to  the  classes  of  society,  who  trouble 
"  themselves  very  little  with  literature  ;  besides,  if 
"  celebrity  really  annoys  you,  nothing  is  so  easy  as  to 
"  escape  from'  it.    Write  no  more ;  at  the  end  of  a 
"  few  years  you  will  be  forgotten  ;  and  you  will  be  as 
"  quiet  as  if  you  never  had  published  any  thing.  You 
"  say  that  your  friends  lay  snares  for  you,  v/hile  they 
pretend  to  serve  you.    In  the  first  place,  is  it  not 
possible  that  there  should  be  a  slight  degree  of  ro- 
<'  mantic  exaltation  in  your  manner  of  considering  your 
"  personal  relations  ?  Your  fine  imagination  was  neces- 
*'  sary  to  compose  the  New  Heloise  ;  but  a  little  rea- 
son  is  requisite  in  the  affairs  of  this  world,  and  when 
"  we  choose  to  do  so,  we  see  things  a^s  they  are.  If, 
«  however,  your  friends  deceive  you,  you  must  break 
"  with  them  ;  but  you  will  be  very  unwise  to  grieve  on 
this  account ;  for,  one  of  two  things,  either  they  are 
^'  v/orthy  of  your  esteem,  and  in  that  case  you  are  wrong 
to  suspect  them  ;  or,  if  your  suspicions  are  well 
"  founded,  then  you  ought  not  to  regret  such  friends/' 
After  having  heard  this  dilemma,  J.  J.  Rousseau 
might  very  well  have  taken  a  third  part,  that  of  throw- 
ing  himself  into  the  river ;  but  what  v/ould  the  rc]i= 
gious  recluse  have  said  to  him  ? 

"  My  son,  I  know  not  the  world,  and  I  am  ignorant 
if  it  be  true  that  they  wish  you  ill  in  that  world  ;  but 
^'  if  it  were  so,  you  would  shaie  this  fate  with  all  good 
men,  who  nevertheless  have  pardoned  their  enemies  ; 
"  for  Jesus  Christ  and  Socrates,  the  God  and  the  m.an, 
have  set  the  example.    It  is  necessary  for  hateful 
passions  to  exist  here  below,  in  order  that  the  trial 
of  the  just  siiould  be  accomplished.    Saint  Theresa 
has  said  of  the  wicked — Unhappy  men^  they  do  ?iot 
4'  love  J  and  yet  they  live,  long  enough  to  have  time 
for  repentance^ 


OF  PAIX. 


305 


"  You  have  received  admirable  gifts  from  Heaven; 
"  if  they  have  made  you  love  what  is  good,  iiave  you 
"  not  ah'eady  enjoyed  the  reward  of  having  been  a  sol- 

dier  of  Truth  upon  earth  I    If  you  have  softened 

hearts  by  your  persuasive  eloquence,  you  vrill  cbtain 
"  for  yourself  some  of  those  tears  which  you  have 
"  caused  to  flow.  You  have  enemies  near  you  ;  but 
"  friends  at  a  distance,  among- the  votaries  of  solitude, 
"  who  read  you  ;  and  you  have  consoled  the  unfortii- 
^'  nate  better  than  we  can  console  yourself.    Why  have 

I  not  your  talent  to  make  you  listen  to  me?  That 

talent,  my  son,  is  a  noble  gift ;  men  often  try  to 
"  asperse  it ;  they  tell  you,  wrongfully,  that  w*c  con- 
^'  demn  it  in  the  name  of  God  :  this  is  not  true.  It  is 
"  a  divine  emotion,  which  iiispires  eloquence  ;  and  if 
^'  you  have  not  abused  it,  learn  to  endure  envy,  for 

such  a  superiority  is  well  worth  the  pain  it  may  make 

you  suiTer. 

"  Nevertheless,  my  son.  I  fear  that  pride  is  mixed 

with  your  sufferings  ;  and  this  it  is  which  gives  them 
»'  their  bitterness ;  for  all  the  griefs  that  continue 
"  hutuble  make  our  tears  flov/  gently;  but  there  is  a 
"  poison  in  pride,  and  man  becomes  senseless  when 
"  he  yields  to  it:  it  is  an  enemy  that  makes  her  own 
"  champion,  the  better  to  destroy  him. 

'»  Genius  ought  only  to  serve  for  the  display  of  the 
^'  supreme  goodness  of  the  soul.  There  are  many 
"  men  who  have  this  goodness,  without  the  talent  of 
"  expressing  it  i  thank  God,  from  whom  you  inherit 
"  the  charm  of  language,  which  is  formed  to  enchant 
"  the  imagination  of  mian.  But  be  not  proud,  except 
"  of  the  feeling  which  dictates  it.  Every  thing  in  life 
"  will  be  rendered  calm  for  you,  if  you  always  contin- 
"  ue  religiously  good :  the  wicked  themselves  grow 
"  tired  of  doing  evil ;  their  own  poison  exhausts  them  ; 
"  and,  besides,  is  not  God  above,  to  take  care  of  the 
"  sparrow  that  falls,  and  of  the  heart  of  man  that  suf- 

fers  ? 

"  You  say  that  your  friends  wish  to  betray  you.. 
"  Take  care  that  you  do  not  accuse  them  unjustly: 
«  woe  to  him  that  has  repelled  a  sincere  affection  :  for 

VOL.  ri.  •    B  b  2 


306  RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


"  they  are  the  angels  of  heaven  who  send  it  us  ;  ther 
have  reserved  this  part  to  themselves  in  the  destiny 
"  of  man.  Suffer  not  your  imagination  to  lead  you 
"  astray  :  you  must  permit  her  to  wander  in  the  re- 
"  gions  of  the  clouds  j  but  nothing  except  one  heart 
"  can  judge  another ;  and  you  would  be  very  culpable 
"  if  you  were  to  forget  a  sincere  friendship  ;  for  the 
"  beauty  of  the  soul  consists  in  its  generous  confidence, 
"  and  human  prudence  is  figured  by  a  serpent. 

"  It  is  possible,  however,  that  in  expiation  of  some 
"  transgressions,  into  which  your  great  abilities  have 
"  led  you,  you  will  be  condemned  upon  this  earth  to 
drink  that  empoisoned  cup,  the  treachery  of  a  friend. 
"  If  it  is  so,  I  lament  your  fate  :  the  Divinity  himself 
"  laments  it,  v.'hile  he  punishes  you.    But  do  not  re- 
volt  against  his  blows;  still  love,  although  love  has 
distracted  your  heart.    In  the  most  profound  soli- 
'-^  tude,  in  the  cruellest  isolation,  we  must  not  suffer 
the  source  of  the  devoted  affections  to  be  dried  up 
"  within  us.    For  a  long  while  it  was  not  believed  that 
God  could  be  loved  as  we  love  those  who  resemble 
ourselves.    A  voice  which  answers  us,  looks  which 
are  interchanged  with  our  own,  appear  full  of  life, 
"  while  the  immense  Heaven  is  silent,  but  by  degrees 
"  the  soul  exalts  itself  even  to  feel  its  God  near  it  as  a 
friend. 

"  My  son,  v/e  ought  to  pray  as  we  love,  by  mingling 

prayer  with  all  our  thoughts  ;  we  ought  to  pray,  for 
*'  then  we  are  no  more  aione ;  and  when  resignation 
^'  shall  descend  softly  into  your  heart,  turn  your  eyes 
^«  upon  nature;  it  m.ight  be  said,  that  every  one  there 

finds  again  his  past  life,  when  no  traces  of  it  exist 

among  men,  I  think  of  your  regrets  as  well  as  your 
"  pltasures,  when  you  contemplate  those  clouds,  some- 
«  times  dark  and  sometimes  brilliant,  which  the  wind 
«  scatters  ;  and  whether  death  has  snatched  your  friends 

from  you,  or  life,  still  more  cruel,  has  broken  asun- 
«  der  your  bonds  of  union  with  them,  you  will  per- 
««  ceive  in  the  stars  their  deified  images ;  they  will  ap- 

pear  to  you  such  as  you  will  see  them  again  here- 

after  »  ' 


THE050PHIST  PHILOSOPHER? 


307 


CHAPTER  VIL 
Of  the  relig-ious  Philosofihers  called  Theosofihists. 


When  I  gave  an  account  of  the  modern  prjiIoso= 
phy  of  the  Germans,  I  endeavoured  to  trace  the  line 
of  demarcation  between  that  philosophy  which  at- 
tempts to  penetrate  the  secret  of  the  universe,  and 
that  which  is  confined  to  an  inquiry  into  the  nature  of 
our  own  souls.  The  same  distinction  may  be  remark- 
ed among  religious  writers  ;  those  of  whom  I  have  al- 
ready spoken  in  the  preceding-  chapters  have  kept  to  the 
influence  of  religion  upon  our  hearts  ;  others,  such  as 
Jacob  Boehmen  in  Germany,  St.  Zvlartin  in  Fra.nce,  and 
very  many  more,  have  believed,  that  they  found  in  the 
relation  of  Christianity  mysterious  words,  which  might 
serve  to  deveiope  the  laws  of  creation.  We  must  con- 
fess, when  we  begin  to  think,  it  is  difficult  to  stop  ; 
and  whether  reflection  leads  to  scepticism  or  to  the 
most  universal  faith,  we  are  sometimes  tempted  to 
pass  whole  hours,  like  the  Faquirs,  in  asking  our- 
selves what  is  life  r  Far  from  despising  those  who  are 
thus  devoured  by  contemplation,  we  cannot  help  con- 
sidering them  as  the  true  lords  of  the  human  species, 
in  whose  presence  those  who  exist  without  reflection, 
are  only  vassals  attached  to  the  soil.  But  how  can  we 
flatter  ourselves  with  the  hope  of  giving  any  consisten- 
cy to  these  thoughts,  which,  like  flasnes  of  ligntning, 
plunge  themselves  again  into  darkness,  after  having 
for  a  moment  thrown  an  uncertain  brilliance  upon  sur- 
rounding objects  ? 

It  may,  however,  be  interesting  to  point  out  the 
principal  direction  of  the  systems  of  the  Theosophists  ; 
that  is  to  say,  of  those  religious  philosophers  who 
liave  always  existed  in  Germany  from  the  establish- 
ment of  Christianity,  and  particularly  since  the  revival 
of  letters.    The  greater  part  of  the  Greek  philoso- 


308 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


phera  have  built  the  system  of  the  world  upon  the  ac- 
tion of  the  elements  ;  and  if  we  except  Pythagoras 
and  Plato,  who  derived  from  the  East  their  tendency 
to  idealism,  the  thinking  men  of  antiquity  explain  all 
the  organization  of  the  universe  by  physical  laws. 
Christianity,  by  lighting  up  the  internal  life  in  the 
breast  of  man,  naturally  excited  the  mind  to  exagge- 
rate its  power  over  the  body.  The  abuses  to  which 
the  most  pure  doctrines  are  subject,  have  introduced 
visions  and  white  magic  (that  is  to  say,  the  magic 
which  attributes  to  the  will  of  man  the  power  of  acting 
tipon  the  elements  without  the  intervention  of  infernal 
spirits,)  all  the  whimsical  reveries,  in  short,  which 
spring  from  the  conviction  that  the  soul  is  more  pow- 
erful than  nature.  The  sects  of  Alchymists,  of  Mag- 
iietizers,  and  of  the  Illuminated,  are  almost  all  sup- 
ported upon  this  ascendency  of  the  will,  which  they 
carry  much  too  far,  but  which  nevertheless,  in  some 
manner,  belongs  to  the  moral  grandeur  of  man. 

Not  only  has  Christianity,  by  affirming  the  spiritu- 
al nature  of  the  soul,  led  them  to  believe  the  unlimi- 
ted power  of  religious  or  philosophical  faith,  but  rev- 
elation has  seemed,  to  some  men,  a  continual  mira- 
cle, which  is  capable  of  being  renewed  for  every  one 
of  them  ;  and  some  have  sincerely  believed,  that  a  su- 
pernatural power  of  divination  vvas  granted  them,  and 
that  truths  were  manifested  in  them,  to  which  they 
testified  more  clearly  than  the  inventors. 

The  most  famous  of  these  religious  philosophers 
was  Jacob  Boehmen,  who  lived  at  the  beginning  of  the 
seventeenth  century  :  he  made  so  much  noise  in  his 
time,  that  Charles  the  First  sent  a  person  express  to 
Gorlitz,  the  place  of  his  abode,  to  study  his  work,  and 
bring  it  back  to  England.  Some  of  his  writings  have 
been  translated  into  French  by  Monsieur  de  St.  Martin  j 
they  are  very  difficult  to  comprehend ;  nevertheless, 
we  cannot  but  be  astonished  that  a  man  without  culti- 
vation of  mind  should  have  gone  so  far  in  the  study  of 
aature.  He  considers  it  in  general  as  an  emblem  of 
the  principal  doctrines  of  Chiistianity  ;  he  fancies  he 
sees  every  where,  in  the  ph?euomena  of  the  v/orid, 


THa050?mST  PiilLOSOPIISRS  309 


traces  of  the  fall  of  man,  and  of  his  regeneration  ;  the 
effects  of  the  principle  of  anger,  and  of  that  of  pity; 
and  while  the  Greek  philosophers  attempted  to  ex- 
plain the  world,  by  the  mixture  of  the  elements  of 
air,  vvater,  and  fire,  Jacob  Boehmen  only  admits  the 
combination  of  moral  forces.,  and  has  recourse  to  pas- 
sages of  the  Gospel  to  interpret  the  universe. 

In  whatever  manner  we  consider  those  singular  wri- 
tings, which  for  two  hundred  years  have  ahvays  found 
readers,  or  rather  adepts,  we  cannot  avoid  remarking 
the  two  opposite  roads  v/hich  are  followed,  in  order  to 
arrive  at  the  truth,  by  the  spiritual  philosophers,  a^nd 
by  the  philosophers  of  materialism.  The  former  im- 
agine, that  it  is  by  divesting  ourselves  of  a.11  impres- 
sions from  without,  and  by  plunging  into  the  ecstacy 
of  thought,  that  we  can  interpret  nature.  The  latter 
pretend,  that  we  cannot  too  much  guard  against  en- 
thusiasm and  imagination  in  our  inquiry  into  the  phse- 
nomena  of  the  universe.  They  v/oul'd  seem  to  say, 
that  the  human  understanding  must  be  freed  from 
matter  or  from  mind  to  comprehend  nature,  while  it  is 
in  the  mysterious  union  of  these  two  that  the  secret  of 
existence  consists. 

Some  learned  men  in  Germany  assert,  that  we  find, 
in  the  works  of  Jacob  Boehmen,  very  profound  views 
upon  the  physical  v/orld.  Wc  may  say,  at  least,  that 
there  is  as  much  originality  in  tiie  theories  of  the  reli- 
gious philosophers  concerning  creation,  as  in  those  of 
Thales,  of  Xenophon,  of  Aristotle,  of  Descartes,  and 
Leibnitz.  The  Theosophists  declare,  that  what  they 
think,  has  been  revealed  to  them,  while  philosophers, 
in  genera],  believe  they  are  solely  conducted  by  their 
own  reason.  But,  as  both  one  and  the  other  aspire  to 
know  the  mystery  of  mysteries,  of  wliat  signification, 
at  this  high  point,  are  the  v/ords  of  reason  and  folly  ? 
and  v/hy  disgrace  with  the  name  of  insensate  persons 
those  who  believe  they  find  great  lights  in  their  exal- 
tation of  mind  ?  It  is  a  movement  of  the  soul  of  a 
very  remarkable  nature,  and  which  assuredly  has  not 
been  conferred  upon  us  only  for  the  sake  of  oppo- 
sing it. 


310 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM, 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
Of  the  Spirit  of  Scctarism  in  Germavy. 


'f  HE  habit  of  meditation  leads  us  to  reveries  of  ev- 
ery kind  upon  human  destiny;  active  life  alone  can 
divert  our  interest  from  the  source  of  things;  but 
all  that  is  grand  or  absurd  in  respect  to  ideas  is  the 
result  of  that  internal  emotion  vi^hich  we  cannot  ex- 
pend upon  external  objects.  Many  people  are  very 
angry  with  religious  or  philosophical  sects,  and  give 
them  the  name  of  follies,  and  of  dangerous  follies.  It 
appears  to  me  that  the  vi^anderings  even  of  thought  are 
much  less  to  be  feared  than  the  absence  of  thought  in 
respect  to  the  repose  and  morality  of  men.  When  we 
have  not  within  ourselves  that  power  of  reflection 
which  supplies  material  activity,  we  must  be  inces- 
santly in  action,  and  frequently  at  random.  The  fa- 
naticism of  ideas  has  sometimes  led,  it  is  true,  to  vio- 
lent actions,  but  it  has  almost  always  been  because 
the  advantages  of  this  world  have  been  sought  for  by 
the  aid  of  abstract  opinions.  Metaphysical  systems 
are  very  little  to  be  feared  in  themselves  ;  they  do  not 
become  dangerous  till  they  are  united  to  the  interests 
of  ambition,  and  it  is  therefore  upon  these  interests 
that  we  must  gain  a  hold,  if  we  wish  to  modify  such 
systems  ;  but  men  who  are  capable  of  a  lively  attach- 
ment to  an  opinion,  independently  of  the  results  which  it 
may  have,  are  always  of  a  noble  nature.  The  philo- 
sophical and  religious  sects,  which,  under  different 
names,  have  existed  in  Germany,  have  hardly  had  any 
connexion  with  political  affairs;  and  the  sort  of  talent 
necessary  to  lead  men  to  vigorous  resolutions,  has 
beer;  rarely  manifested  in  this  covintry.  We  may  dis- 
pute upon  the  philosophy  of  Kant,  upon  theological 
questions,  upon  idealism  or  empiricism,  without  pro- 
ducing any  thing  but  books.    The  spirit  of  sect  and 


SPIRIT  OF  SECTAHISM. 


311 


the  spirit  of  party  differ  in  many  points.  The  spirit  of 
party  represents  opinions  by  that  v'hich  is  most  prom- 
inent about  them,  in  order  to  make  the  vulgar  under- 
stand them  ;  and  the  spirit  of  sect,  particularly  in 
Germany,  ahvays  leads  to  what  is  most  abstract.  In 
the  spirit  of  party  we  must  seize  the  points  of  view 
taken  by  the  multitude  to  place  ourselves  among 
them  ;  the  Germans  only  thmk  of  theory,  and  if  she 
was  to  lose  herself  in  the  clouds,  they  would  follow 
her  there.  The  spirit  of  party  stirs  up  certain  com- 
mon passions  in  men  which  unite  them  in  a  mass. 
The  Germans  subdivide  every  thing  by  means  of 
distinction  and  comment.  They  have  a  philosophical 
sincerity  singularly  adapted  to  t^^e  enquiry  after  truth, 
but  not  at  all  to  the  art  oi  puttii.g  her  into  action. 
The  spirit  of  sect  aspires  en  v  to  convince;  that  of 
party  v»'ishes  to  rally  meri  lou.  c  it.  The  former  dis- 
putes about  ideas,  the  latter  v.ishes  for  power  over 
men.  There  is  discipline  in  the  pa'ty  spirit,  and  anar- 
chy in  the  sectarian  spirit.  Authority,  of  whatever 
kind  it  may  be,  has  hardly  any  thing  to  fear  from  the 
spirit  of  sectarism  ;  we  satisfy  it  by  leaving  a  great  lat- 
iiude  for  thought  at  its  disposal.  But  the  spirit  of 
party  is  not  so  easily  contented,  and  does  not  confine 
Itself  to  these  intellectual  contests,  in  which  every  in- 
dividual m.ay  create  an  empire  for  himself  without  ex- 
pelling one  present  possessor. 

In  Frciuce,  they  are  much  more  susceptible  of  the 
party  spirit  than  of  the  sectarian  :  every  one  there  too 
well  understands  the  reality  of  life,  not  to  turn  his 
wishes  into  actions,  and  his  thoughts  into  practice. 
But  perhaps  they  are  too  foreign  from  the  sectarian 
spirit  :  they  do  not  sufiicienlly  hold  to  abstract  ideas, 
to  have  any  warmth  in  defending  them  ;  besides,  they 
do  not  choose  to  be  bound  by  any  sort  of  opinions,  for 
the  purpose  of  advancing  the  more  freely  in  the  face 
of  ail  circumstances.  There  is  more  good  faith  in  the 
spirit  of  sect  t ::an  in  the  party  spirit  ;  the  Gernjans, 
therefore,  are  naturally  more  fitted  for  one  than  the 
other. 


312  REUGION  AND  ENTHUSIAT^L 

We  must  distinguish  three  sorts  of  religious  and 
philosophical  sects  in  Germany  :  first,  the  different 
Christian  communities  which  have  existed  (particularly 
at  the  epoch  of  the  reformation,)  when  all  writings 
have  been  directed  towards  theological  questions 
secondly,  the  secret  associations  ;  and  lastly,  the  adepts 
of  some  particular  systems,  of  which  one  man  is  the 
chief.  We  must  range  the  Anabaptists  and  the  Mora*- 
vians  in  the  first  class  ;  in  the  second,  that  most  an- 
cient of  secret  associations  the  Free  Masons ;  and  in 
the  third,  the  different  sorts  of  the  Illuminated. 

The  Anabaptists  were  rather  a  revolutionary  than  a 
religious  sect;  and  as  they  owed  their  existence  to  po- 
litical passions,  and  not  to  opinions,  they  passed  away 
with  circumstances.  The  Moravians,  entirely  stran- 
gers to  the  interests  of  this  world,  are,  as  I  have  said, 
a  Christian  community  of  the  greatest  purity.  The 
Quakers  carry  into  the  m-idst  of  society  the  principles 
of  the  Moravians  :  the  Moravians  withdraw  from  the 
world,  to  be  the  more  sure  of  remaining  faithful  to 
their  principles. 

Free-masonry  is  an  institution  much  more  serious  in 
Scotland  and  in  Germany  than  in  France.  It  has  exist- 
ed in  all  countries  ;  but  it  nevertheless  appears,  that 
it  was  from  Germany  especially  that  this  assoication 
took  its  origin  ;  that  it  was  alterwards  transported  to 
England  by  the  Anglo-Saxons,  and  renewed  at  the  death 
of  Charles  the  First  by  the  partisans  ot  the  Festora- 
tion,  who  assembled  some  where  near  St.  Paul's 
Church  for  the  purpose  of  recalling  Charles  the  Second 
to  the  throne.  It  is  also  believed  that  the  Free-Ma- 
sons, especially  in  Scotland,  are,  in  some  manner,  con- 
nected with  the  order  of  Templars.  Lessing  has  writ- 
ten a  dialogue  upon  Free-masonry,  in  which  his  lumin- 
ous genius  is  very  remarkable.  He  believes  that  this 
association  has  for  its  object  the  union  of  men,  in  spite 
of  the  barriers  of  society  ;  for  if,  in  certain  respects* 
the  social  state  forms  a  bond  of  connexion  between 
men,  by  subjecting  them  to  the  empire  of  the  laws,  it 
separates  them  by  the  differences  of  rank  and  govern- 
:n^vt  '  this  sort  of  brotherhood,  the  true  image  of  the 


SPIRIT  OF  SECTAHISM 


313 


golden  age,  has  been  mingled  with  many  other  idea^ 
equally  good  and  moral  in  Free-masonry.  However, 
^ye  cannot  dissemble  that  there  is  something  in  the  na- 
ture of  secret  associations  which  leads  the  mind  to  in- 
dependence ;  but  these  associations  are  very  favoura' 
bie  to  the  development  of  knowledge  for  every  thing 
which  men  do  by  themselves,  and  spontaneously  gives 
their  judgment  more  strength  and  m.ore  comprehen- 
siveness. It  is  al£'>  possible  that  the  principles  of  de- 
mocraticai  equality  may  be  propag-ated  by  this  species 
of  institution,  which  exhibits  mankind  according  to 
their  real  value,  and  not  according  to  their  several 
ranks  in  the  world.  Secret  associations  teach  us 
what  is  the  power  of  number  and  of  union,  while  in= 
sulated  citizens  are,  if  we  may  use  the  expression, 
abstract  beings  with  relation  to  each  other.  In  this 
point  of  view  these  associations  may  have  a  great  in- 
i^uence  in  the  state  ;  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  just  to 
acknowledge,  that  Free-masonry,  in  general,  is  only 
occupied  with  religious  and  philosophical  interests:, 
its  members  are  divided  into  two  classes,  the  Philo- 
sophical Free-masonry,  and  the  Hermetic  or  Egyptian 
Free-masonry.  Tne  first  has  for  its  object  the  inter- 
nal church,  or  the  development  of  the  spirituality  of 
the  soul  ;  the  second  is  connected  with  the  sciences — 
with  those  sciences  which  are  employed  upon  the  se- 
crets of  nature.  The  Rosicrucian  brotherhood,  among 
others,  is  one  of  the  degrees  of  Free-masonry,  and 
this  brotherhood  originally  consisted  of  Alchymists, 
At  all  times,  and  in  every  country,  secret  associations 
have  existed,  whose  members  have  aimed  at  mutually 
strengthenhig  each  other  in  their  belief  of  the  soul's 
spirituality.  The  mysteries  of  Eleusis  among  the  Pa- 
gans,  the  sect  of  Essenes  among  the  Hebrews,  were 
founded  upon  tiiis  doctrine,  which  they  did  not  choose 
to  profane  by  exposing  it  to  the  ridicule  of  the  vulgar. 
It  is  nearly  thirty  years  since  there  was  an  assembly  of 
Free-masons,  presided  over  by  the  Duke  of  Bruns- 
wick,  at  Wilhelms-Bad.  This  assembly  had  for  its 
object  the  reform  of  the  Free-Masons  in  Germany ; 
and  it  appears,  that  the  opinions  of  tile  Mystics  ia 

VOL.  II,  Co 


314  RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM 


general,  and  those  of  St.  Martin  in  particular,  had 
•much  influence  over  this  society.  Political  institu» 
tions, social  relations,  and  often  even  those  of  our  family, 
comprehend  only  the  exterior  of  life.  It  is  then  na- 
tural, that  at  all  times  men  should  have  sought  some  inti- 
mate manner  of  knowing  and  understanding  each  other, 
and  also  those  whose  characters  have  any  depth,  be- 
lieve  they  are  adepts,  and  endeavour  to  distinguish 
themselves  by  some  signs,  from  the  rest  of  mankind. 
Secret  associations  degenerate  with  time,  but  their 
principle  is  almost  always  an  enthusiastic  feeling  re^ 
strained  by  society. 

Tncre  are  three  classes  of  the  Illuminated,  the 
Mystical,  the  Visionary,  and  the  Illuminated  :  the  first 
class,  that  of  which  Jacob  Boehmen,  and  in  the  last 
age  Paschai  and  St.  Martin,  might  be  considered  as 
the  chiefs,  is  united  by  many  ties  to  that  internal  church 
which  is  the  sanctuary  of  re-union  for  all  religious  phi- 
losophers :  these  illuminated  are  only  occupied  with 
^religion  and  with  nature,  interpreted  by  the  doctrines 
of  religion.  The  Visionary  Illuminated,  at  the  head 
of  whom  we  must  place  the  Swedish  Swedenborg,  be- 
lieve, that,  by  the  power  of  the  will,  they  can  make 
the  dead  appear,  and  work  other  miracles.  The  late 
K-ing  of  Prussia,  Frederick-William,  has  been  led  into 
error  by  the  credulity  of  these  men,  or  by  their  arti- 
fices, which  had  the  appearance  of  credulity.  The 
Ideal  Illum.inatcd  look  down  upon  these  visionaries  as 
empirics  ;  they  despise  their  pretended  prodigies,  and 
think  that  the  wonderful  sentiments  of  the  soul  belong 
to  them  only  in  an  especial  manner:— in  a  word,  men 
who  have  had  no  other  object  than  that  of  securing  the 
chitf  authority  in  all  states,  and  of  getting  places  for 
themselves,  have  taken  the  name  of  the  Illuminated. 
Their  chief  was  a  Bavarian,  Weisshaupt,  a  man  of 
superior  understanding,  and  who  had  thoroughly  felt 
the  power  that  we  may  acquire,  by  uniting  the  scatter- 
ed  strength  of  individuals,  and  by  directing  them  all 
to  the  same  object.  The  possession  of  a  secret,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  flatters  the  self-love  of  men  ;  and  when 
they  are  toid  that  they  are  something,  that  their  equals 


SPIRIT  OF  SECTARISM. 


315 


are  not,  they  always  .^ain  a  command  over  them. 
Self-love  is  hurt  by  resembling-  the  multitude  ;  andj 
from  the  moment  that  we  choose  to  assume  public  or 
private  marks  of  distinction,  we  are  sure  to  set  in  mo- 
tion the  fancy  of  vanity,  which  is  the  most  active  of  all 
fancies.  The  political  Illuminated  have  only  borrow- 
ed from  the  others  some  signs  of  recognition  ;  but  in- 
terests, and  not  opinions,  are  their  rallying  points : 
their  object,  it  is  true,  was  to  reform  the  social  order 
upon  new  principles;  but  v/hiie  they  waited  the  ac- 
complishment of  this  great  work,  their  first  aim  was 
to  seize  upon  public  offices.  Such  a  sect  has  adepts 
enough  in  every  country,  who  initiate  themselves  into 
its  secrets.  In  Germany,  however,  perhaps  this  sect 
is  the  only  one  which  has  been  founded  upon  a  political 
combination ;  all  the  others  have  taken  their  rise  from 
some  sort  of  enthusiasm,  and  have  only  had  for  their 
object  the  inquiry  after  truth.  Amongst  these  men 
who  endeavour  to  penetrate  the  secrets  of  nature,  we 
must  reckon  the  Magnetizers,  the  Alchymists,  he. 
It  is  probable  that  there  is  much  foily  in  these  pre- 
tended discoveries,  but  v/hat  can  v/e  find  alarming  in 
them  ?  If  we  come  to  the  detection  of  that  which  is 
called  marvellous  in  physical  ph^enomena,  we  shall 
have  reason  to  think  there  are  moments  when  nature 
appears  a  machine  which  is  constantly  movjd  by  the 
same  springs,  and  it  is  then  that  her  indexible  regu- 
larity alarms  us ;  but  wdien  we  fancy  we  occasionally 
see  in  her  something  voluntary,  like  thought,  a  con- 
fused hope  seizes  upon  the  soul,  and  steals  us  away 
from  the  fixed  regard  of  necessity. 

At  the  bottom  of  all  these  attempts,  and  of  ail  these 
scientific  and  philosophical  systems,  there  is  always  a 
very  marked  bias  towards  the  spirituality  of  the  soul. 
Those  who  wish  to  divine  the  secrets  of  nature,  a:e 
entirely  opposed  to  the  materialists  ;  for  it  is  always 
in  thougiit  that  they  seek  the  solution  of  the  enigma 
of  the  physical  world.  Doubtless,  such  a  movement 
in  the  mind  may  lead  to  great  errors,  but  it  is  so  with 
every  tiling  animated — as  soon  as  there  is  life  there  is 
dangero    Individual  efforts  would  end  by  being  inter- 

I- 


316 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


dieted,  if  we  were  to  subject  ourselves  to  that  method 
■which  aims  at  regulating  the  movements  of  the  mind, 
as  discipline  commands  those  of  the  body.  The  diffi>' 
culty  then  consists  in  directing  the  faculties  without 
restraining  them,  and  we  should  wish  that  it  was  pos- 
sible to  adapt  to  the  imagination  of  men,  the  art  yet 
unknown  of  still  rising  on  ^vings,  and  of  directing  out 
,Sjgbt  in  the  air. 


CONTE>rPLATI0N  OF  NATUEE 


317 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Of  the  Contemplation  of  7\atiircr 


speaking  of  the  influence  of  the  new  philosophy 
upon  the  sciences,  I  have  already  made  mention  of 
some  of  the  new  principles  adopted  in  Germany,  rel- 
ative to  the  study  of  nature.  But  as  religion  and  en- 
thusiasm have  a  great  share  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  universe,  1  shall  point  out  in  a  general  manner,  the 
political  and  religious  views  that  we  may  ccliect  upon 
this  point  in  the  writings  of  the  Germans.  Many  nat- 
uralists, guided  by  a  pious  feeling,  have  thought  it_ 
their  duty  to  limit  themselves  to  the  examination  ci* 
final  causes.  They  have  endeavoured  to  prove  that 
every  thing  in  the  world  tends  to  the  support  and  the 
physical  well-being  of  individuals  and  of  classes.  It 
appears  to  me  that  we  may  make  very  strong  objec- 
tions to  this  system.  Without  doubt  it  is  easy  to  see, 
that,  in  the  order  of  things,  the  means  are  admirably 
adapted  to  their  ends.  But  in  this  universal  concate- 
nation, where  are  those  causes  bounded,  which  are 
effects,  and  those  effects  which  are  causes  ?  If  v.-e 
choose  to  refer  every  thing  to  the  preservation  of  man, 
we  shall  find  it  difficult  to  conceive  v/hat  he  has  in 
common  with  the  majority  of  beings  :  besides,  it  is  to 
attach  too  much  value  to  material  existence,  to  assign 
that  as  the  ultimate  object  of  creation.-  Those  who, 
notwithstanding  the  great  crowd  of  particular  misfor- 
tunes, attribute  a  certain  sort  of  goodness  to  Nature,, 
consider  her  as  a  merchant,  who,  making  speculations 
on  a  large  scale,  balances  small  losses  by  greater  ad- 
vantages. This  system  is  not  suitable  even  to  the  go- 
vernments of  men  ;  and  scrupulous  writers  in  political 
economy  have  opposed  it.  What  then  will  be  th& 
ease,  if  we  consider  the  intendons  of  the  Deiiy  ?  A 
man,  regarded  ii)  a  religious  light,  is  as  much  ?,s  thg'- 
voL.  C  c  8 


318 


RELIGIOJ^-  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


human  race ;  and  from  the  moment  that  we  have  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  an  immortal  soul,  we  have  iv  right 
to  decide  what  is  the  degree  of  importance  which  an 
individual  holds  in  his  relation  to  the  whole  body.  Ev- 
ery intellii2;ent  being  is  of  an  infinite  value,  because 
Lis  soul  is  eternal.  It  is  then  in  the  most  elevated 
point  of  \ie\Y  that  the  German  philosophers  have  con- 
sidered the  iiiiiverse.  There  are  those  who  believe 
they  see  in  every  thing  two  principles,  that  of  good 
and  that  of  evil,  continually  opposing- each  other;  and 
•whether  v/e  attribute  this  coiitest  to  an  infernal  power, 
or  whether,  according  to  a  simpler  thought,  the  natu- 
ral v/orld  may  be  the  image  of  the  good  and  bad  pro- 
pensities of  m^an,  it  is  true  that  the  universe  alv/ays  of- 
fers to  our  observation  two  faces,  which  are  absolute- 
ly contrary  to  each  other.  There  is,  we  cannot  deny  it, 
a  terrible  side  in  nature  as  well  as  in  the  human  heart, 
and  we  feel  there  a  dreadful  power  of  anger.  Howev- 
er good  may  be  the  intention  of  the  partisans  of  opti» 
jnism,  more  depth  is  apparent,  I  think,  in  those  who 
do  not  deny  evil,  but  who  acknowledge  the  connexion 
of  this  evil  with  the  liberty  of  man,  with  the  immor- 
tality which  he  may  deserve  by  the  right  use  of  that 
liberty.  The  mystical  writers,  of  whom  I  have  spo- 
ken in  the  preceding  chapter,  see  in  man  the  abridg- 
ment of  the  world,  and  in  the  world,  the  emblem  of 
the  doctrines  of  Christianity.  Nature  seems  to  them 
the  corporeal  image  of  the  Deity,  and  they  are  contin- 
ually plunging  further  into  the  profound  signification 
of  things  and  beings.  Amongst  the  German  writers, 
who  have  been  employed  upon  the  contemplation  of 
tiature  under  a  religious  point  of  view,  there  are  two 
who  merit  particular  attention  :  Novalis  as  a  poet,  and 
Schubert  as  a  naturalist.  Novalis,  who  was  a  man  of 
iiobie  birth,  was  initiated  from  his  youth  in  the  studies 
of  every  kind,  which  the  new  school  has  developed  in 
Germany ;  but  his  pious  soul  has  given  a  great  charac- 
iev  of  simplicity  to  his  poems.  He  died  at  the  age  of 
twenty-six  ;  and,  when  he  was  no  more,  the  religious 
hymns,  which  he  had  composed,  acquired  a  striking 
xclebrity  in  Germany,    This  young  rnsn's  father  is  a 


CONTE^rPLATIOX  OF  XATUHE  319 


?>loravia!i ;  and.  some  lime  after  the  death  of  his  son, 
he  went  to  visit  a  community  of  that  per^.uasion,  and 
heard  his  so  ''s  hymns  sunp;  in  their  church  ;  the  Mo= 
ravians  having  chosen  them  for  their  ovrn  edificatioDj 
without  knowing  the  author  of  them. 

Amongst  the  works  of  Novalis,  some  Hymns  to 
Night  are  distinguished,  which  very  forcibly  depict  the 
train  of  recollections  which  it  awakens  in  the  mind. 
The  blaze  of  day  may  agree  with  the  joyous  doctrines 
of  Paganism  ;  but  the  starry  heaven  seems  the  rea! 
temple  of  the  purest  worship.  It  is  in  the  darkness 
of  night,  says  a  German  poet,  that  imm.orlality  is  re-' 
vealed  to  man;  the  light  of  the  sun  dazzles  the  eyes, 
which  imagine  they  see.  Some  stanzas  of  Novalis,  on 
the  life  of  ^liners,  contain  some  spirited  poetry,  of 
very  great  effect.  He  questions  the  earth  which  is 
found  in  the  deep  caverns,  because  it  has  been  the  wit-- 
ness  of  the  different  revolutions  which  nature  has  un- 
dergone ;  and  he  expresses  a  vehement  desire  to  pen- 
etrate still  farther  towards  the  centre  of  the  globe. 
The  contrast  of  this  boundless  curiosity  v.^ith  the  frail 
life,  which  is  to  be  exposed  to  gratify  it, causes  a  sub- 
lime emotion.  Man  is^^  placed  on  earth,  between  in- 
finity in  the  heavens  and  infinity  in  the  abysses  ;  and 
his  life,  spent  under  the  influence  of  time,  is  likcv.ise 
between  two  eternities.  Surrounded  on  ail  sides  by 
boundless  ideas  and  objects,  innumerable  thoughts  ap- 
pear to  him  like  mihions  of  lights,  which  throw  their 
blaze  together  to  dazzle  him.  Novalis  has  written 
much  upon  nature  in  general;  he  calls  himself,  with 
reason,  the  disciple  of  Sais,  because  in  this  city  the 
temple  of  Isis  w^as  built,  and  the  tradi  ions  that  remain 
of  the  Egyptian  mysteries  lead  us  to  believe  that  their- 
priests  had  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  lav/s  of  the 
universe. 

"  rvlan,''  says  Novalis,  "  is  united  to  Nature  by  re- 
lations  almost  as  various,  almost  as  Inconceivable,' 
^'  as  those  which  he  maintains  with  his  kind  :  as  she 
"  brings  herself  down  to  the  comprehension  of  chil- 
^  dreo,  and  takes  delight  in  their  simple  hearts,  so 
does  she  appear  sublime  to  exalted  minds,  and  divine 


320 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


"  to  divine  being-s.  The  iove  of  Nature  assumes  varioag 
"  forms,  and  while  ii  excites  in  some  persons  nothing 
"  but  joy  and  pleasure,  it  inspires  the  arts  with  the 
"  most  pious  religion,  with  that  which  gives  a  direction 
"  and  a  support  to  tlie  whole  of  life.     Long  since^- 

among  the  ancient  nations,  there  have  been  men  of 
"  serious  spirit,  for  whom  the  universe  was  the  image 
"  of  the  Deity :  and  others,  who  believed  they  were 

only  invited  to  the  banquet  of  the  world  :  the  air, 

for  these  convival  guests  of  existence,  was  only  a 

refreshing  draught ;  the  stars  were  only  torches- 
4'  which  lit  the  dance  during  the  night ;  and  planets  and 

animals  only  the  magnificent  preparations  for  a 
4'  splendid  feast  :  Nature  did  not  present  herself  to 
"  their  eyes  as  a  majestic  and  tranquil  temple,  but 

as  the  brilliant  theatre  of  ever  novel  entertain^ 

ments. 

^'  At  the  same  time,  however,  some  more  profound 
minds  were  employed,  v/ithout  relaxation,  in  rebuild^ 
"  ing  that  ideal  world,  the  traces  of  which  had  al- 
"  ready  disappeared  ;  they  partook,  like  brothers,  the 
"  most  sacred  labours ;  some  endeavoured  to  repro- 
«  duce,  in  music,  the  voice  of  the  woods  and  winds  ; 
"  others  impressed  the  image  and  the  presentiment 
"  of  a  more  noble  race  upon  stone  and  brass  ;  changed 
the  rocks  into  edifices  ;  and  brought  to  light  the  treas- 
"  ures  hidden  under  the  earth.    Nature,  civilized  by 
^*  man,  seemed  to  answer  his  desires  :  the  imagination 
of  the  artist  dared  to  question  her,  and  the  golden 
age  seemed  to  reappear,  by  the  help  of  thought. 
"In  order  to  understand  Nature,  we  must  be  in- 
corporated  with  her.    A  poetical  and  reflective  life, 
"  a  holy  and  religious  soul,  all  the  strength  and  all 
the  bloom  of  human  existence,  are  necessary  to  at= 
tain  this  comprehension ;  and  the  true  observer  is  he 
who  can  discover  the  analogy  of  that  nature  with 
«  man,  and  that  of  man  with  Heaven." 

Schubert  has  composed  a  book  upon  Nature,  that 
never  tires  in  the  perusal  ;  so  filled  is  it  with  ideas 
that  excite  meditation  :  he  presents  the  picture  of  new 
fsictSj  the  concatenation  of  which  is  couceiveci  under 


CONTEMPLATION  OF  NA1:UK£. 


iiew  points  of  view.  We  derive  two  principal  ideas 
from  his  v/ork.  The  Indians  believe  in  a  descending 
meteinpsychosis,  that  is,  in  the  condemnation  of  the 
soul  of  man  to  pass  into  animals  and  plants,  as  a  pun- 
ishment for  having  misused  this  life.  It  would  be  dif- 
ficult for  us  to  imagine  a  system  cf  more  profound 
misery  ;  and  the  writings  of  the  Indians  bear  the  mel- 
ancholy stamp  of  their  doctrine.  They  believe  they 
see  every  where,  in  animals  as  in  plants,  thought  as 
a  captive,  and  feeling  enslaved,  vainly  endeavouring 
to  disengage  themselves  from  the  gross  and  silent, 
forms  which  imprison  them.  The  system  of  Schu- 
bert is  more  consolatory.  He  represents  Nature  as 
an  ascending  metempsychosis,  in  which,  from  the 
stone  to  human  life,  there  is  a  continual  promotion, 
which  makes  the  vital  principle  advance  by  degrees, 
even  to  the  most  complete  perfection. 

Schubert  also  believes  that  there  have  been  epochs, 
where  man  had  so  lively  and  so  delicate  a  feeling  of 
existing  phaenomena,  that,  by  his  own  impressions,  he 
conjectured  the  most  hidden  secrets  of  Nature.  These 
primitive  faculties  have  become  dull  :  and  it  is  often 
the  sickly  irritability  of  the  nerves,  which,  while  it 
weakens  the  power  of  reasoning,  restores  to  man  that 
instinct  which  he  formerly  owed  to  the  very  plenitude 
of  his  strength.  The  labours  of  philosophers,  of 
learned  men,  and  of  poets,  in  Germany,  aim  at  di- 
minishing the  dry  power  of  argumentation,  without 
in  the  least  obscuring  knowledge.  It  is  thus  that  the 
imagination  of  the  ancient  world  may  be  born  again, 
like  the  phoenix,  from  the  ashes  of  all  errors. 

The  greater  number  of  naturalists  have  attempted 
>to  explain  Nature  like  a  good  government,  in  which 
every  thing  is  conducted  according  to  wise  principles 
of  administration  ;  but  it  is  in  vain  that  v/e  try  to  trans- 
fer this  prosaic  system  to  creation.  Neither  the  ter- 
rible, nor  even  the  beautiful,  can  be  explained  by  this 
circumscribed  theory  ;  and  Nature  is  by  turns  too  cru- 
el and  too  magnificent  to  permit  us  to  subject  her  to 
that  sort  of  calculation  which  directs  our  iudgmevA 
in  the  affairs  of  tliis  world. 


322 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASIM. 


There  are  objects  hideous  in  themselves,  whose  im- 
pression upon  us  is  inexplicable.  Certain  figures  of  an= 
imals,  certain  forms  of  plants,  certain  combinations  of 
colours,  revolt  our  senses,  without  our  being  at  all  able 
to  give  an  account  of  the  causes  of  this  repugnance: 
we  Vv'ould  say,  that  these  ungraceful  conlou7's,  these  re- 
pulsive images,  suggest  the  ideas  of  baseness  and 
perfidy;  although  notiiing  in  the  analogies  of  reason 
can  explain  such  an  association  of  ideas.  The  physi- 
ognomy of  man  does  not  exclusively  depend  (as  some 
writers  have  pretended)  upon  the  stronger  or  weaker 
character  of  the  features  ;  there  is  transmitted  through 
the  look  and  the  change  of  countenance,  I  know  not 
what  expression  of  the  soul,  impossible  to  be  mista- 
ken ;  and  it  is  above  all,  in  the  human  form,  that  we 
are  taught  what  is  extraordinary  and  unknown  in  the 
harmonies  of  mind  and  body. 

Accidents  and  misfortunes,  in  the  course  of  nature, 
have  something  so  rapid,  so  pitiless,  and  so  unexpect- 
ed about  them,  that  they  appear  to  be  miraculous. 
Disease  and  its  furies,  are  like  a  wicked  life,  which 
seizes  on  a  sudden  upon  a  life  of  tranquility.  The  af- 
fections of  the  heart  make  us  feel  the  cruelty  of  that 
nature,  which  it  is  attempted  to  represent  as  so  sweet 
and  so  gentle.  What  dangers  threaten  a  beloved  per- 
son !  under  how  many  shapes  is  death  disguised  around 
us  !  there  is  not  a  fine  day  which  may  not  conceal  the 
thunderbolt;  not  a  fiower  whose  juices  may  not  be 
empoisoned  ;  not  a  breath  of  air  v/hich  may  uf  t  bring  a 
fatal  contagion :  and  Nature  appears  like  a  jealous 
mistress,  ready  to  pierce  the  bosom  of  mau  at  the 
very  moment  that  she  animates  him  with  her  kind- 
ness. How  can  we  comprehend  the  object  of  ali  these 
phsenomena,  if  we  confine  ourselves  to  the  ordiijary 
connexion  of  our  thoughts  on  these  subjects  ?  How 
can  v/e  consider  animals  withoui  being  plunged  into 
the  astonishment  which  their  mysterious  existence 
causes  ?  ^  fioet  has  called  them  the  dreams  cf  Nature^ 
and  man  her  ivaking.  Fur  what  end  v/ere  they  cret.tcd  ? 
what  mean  those  looks  which  seem  covcr^ed  viti)  an 
ebscure  cloud,  behind  which  an  idea  strives  to  shov/ 


CONTEMPLATION  OF  NATURE. 


32S 


'itself?  what  connexion  have  they  with  us?  what  part 
of  life  is  it  they  enjoy  ?  A  bird  survives  a  man  of  gen- 
ius, and  I  know  not  what  strange  sort  of  despair  seizes 
the  heart  when  we  have  lost  what  we  love,  and  when 
we  see  the  breath  of  existence  still  animate  an  insect 
which  moves  upon  the  earth,  fvom  which  the  most  no- 
hie  object  has  disappeared.  The  contemplation  of  Na- 
ture overwhelms  our  thoughts.  We  feel  ourselves 
in  a  state  of  relation  with  her,  which  does  not  depend 
upon  the  good  or  evil  which  she  can  do  ;  but  her  visi- 
ble soul  endeavours  to  find  ours  in  her  bosom,  and 
ho.;ds  converse  with  us.  When  darkness  alarms  us,  it 
is  not  always  the  peril  to  wl.ich  it  exposes  us  that  we 
dread,  but  it  is  the  syrapatliy  of  ni.iht  with  every  sort 
of  privation,  or  grief,  with  which  we  are  penetrated. 
The  sun,  on  the  contrary,  is  like  an  emanation  from 
the  Deity,  like  a  glorious  messenger,  who  tells  us 
that  our  prayer  is  heard  :  his  rays  descend  upon  the 
earth  not  only  to  direct  the  labours  of  man,  bat  to  ex- 
press a  feeling  of  love  for  Nature.  The  flowers  turn 
towards  the  light,  in  order  to  receive  it ;  they  are  clo-= 
sed  during  the  night,  and  at  morri  and  eve  they  seem 
in  aromatic  perfume  to  breathe  their  hymns  of  praise. 
Wiien  these  flowers  are  reared  in  the  shade,  they  are 
of  paliid  hue,  and  no  longer  clad  in  their  accustomed 
cciours  ;  but  when  we  restore  them  to  tiie  day,  in  them 
the  sun  reflects  his  varied  beams,  as  in  the  rainbow. 
And  one  should  say,  that  he  gazes  upon  iuraseif  with 
pride,  in  the  mirror  of  that  beauty  which  he  has  con- 
ferred upon  them.  The  sleep  of  vegetables,  during 
certain  hours,  and  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  is  in 
accord  with  the  motion  of  the  earth:  the  globe,  in  its 
revolving  motion,  hurries  awa)  through  various  regions, 
the  half  of  plants,  of  animius,  and  of  men,  asicep  :  the 
passengers  in  tiiis  great  vessel,  which  we  call  the 
world,  suffer  themselves  to  be  rocked  in  the  circle 
which  their  journeying  habitation  describes. 

The  peace  and  discord,  the  harmony  aiid  dissonance, 
which  a  secret  bond  unites,  are  the  first  laws  of  Nature  ; 
and  whether  she  appears  fearful,  terrible,  or  attractire, 
the  sublime  unity,  which  is  her  character,  always 
iKakes  her  known. 


^24 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


Fire  rushes  in  waves,  like  the  torrent:  the  clouds 
that  travel  through  the  air,  sometimes  assume  the 
form  of  mountains  and  of  valleys,  and  appear  to  imi- 
tate in  their  sport  the  image  of  the  earth.  It  is 
said  in  Genesis,  that  the  Almighty  divided  the  waters 
of  the  earth  from  the  waters  of  heaven,  and  suspended 
these  last  in  the  air.  The  heavens  are  in  fact  a  noble 
ally  of  the  ocean.  The  azure  of  the  firmament  is  re- 
flected in  the  waters,  and  the  %\'aves  are  painted  in  the 
clouds.  Sometimes,  when  the  storm  is  prepariiig  in 
the  atmosphere,  the  sea  trembles  at  a  distance,  and 
one  should  say,  that  it  answers,  by  the  agitation  of  its  ' 
waves,  to  the  mysterious  signal  of  the  tempest  which 
it  has  received. 

M.  De  Humboldt  says,  in  his  scientific  and  poetical 
Views  of  Southern  America,  that  he  has  witnessed  a 
phaenomenon,  which  i^  also  to  be  observed  in  Egypt 
and  which  is  called  mirage.  On  a  sudden,  in  the  most 
arid  deserts,  the  reverbei  ation  of  the  air  assumes  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  lake,  or  of  the  sea  ;  and  the  vei  y  animals, 
panting  with  thirst,  rush  towards  thes^  deceitful  im- 
ages, hoping  to  allay  that  thirst.  The  different  figures 
that  the  hoar-fiost  traces  on  the  window,  present 
another  example  of  the  -trange  analogies.  The  vapours 
condensed  by  the  cold  designate  iandscapes,  like  those 
which  are  remarked  in  northern  countries  :  forests  of 
pines,  mountains  bristling  with  ice  reappear  in  their 
robes  of  white,  and  frozen  Nature  takes  pleasure  in  \ 
counterfeiting  the  productions  of  animated  nature. 

Not  only  does  Nature  reflect  herself,  but  she  seems 
to  v.'ish  to  imitate  the  M^orks  of  man ;  aiid  to  give 
them,  by  these  means,  a  singular  testimony  of  her  cor- 
respondence with  them.  It  is  related,  that  in  the  isl-  I 
ands  uear  Japan,  the  clouds  assume  the  appearance  of 
regular  fortifications. 

The  fine  arts  also  have  their  type  in  Nature  ;  and 
this  luxury  of  existence  is  more  the  object  of  her  care 
than  existeiice  itseif :  the  symmetry  of  forms,  in  the 
vegetable  and  mineral  kingdoms,  has  served  for  a  mo 
del  to  architects;  ard  the  reflection  of  objects  and 
colours  in  the  v/atei>  gives  an  idea  of  the  illusions  of 


CONTE!»TPLATION  OF  NATURE. 


325 


painting  :  the  wind  (whose  murmurs  are  prolonj^ed  in 
the  trembling  leaves)  discovers  the  secret  of  inusic. 
And  it  has  been  said,  on  the  shores  of  Asia,  where 
the  atmosphere  is  most  pure,  that  sometimes,  in  the 
evening,  a  plaintive  and  sweet  harmony  is  heard,  which 
Nature  seems  to  address  to  man,  in  order  to  tell  him 
that  she  herself  breathes,  that  she  herself  loves,  that 
she  herself  suffers. 

Often  at  the  sight  of  a  lovely  country  we  are  tempt- 
ed  to  believe  that  its  only  object  is  to  excite  in  man  ex- 
alted and  spotless  sentiments  :  I  know  not  v/hat  con- 
jiexion  it  is  which  exists  between  the  heavens  and  the 
pride  of  the  human  heart  ;  between  the  rays  of  the 
moon,  that  repose  upon  the  mountain,  and  the  calm 
of  conscience  ;  but  these  objects  hold  a  beautiful  lan- 
guage to  man,  and  we  are  capable  of  wholly  yielding 
to  the  agitation  which  they  cause  :  this  abandonment 
•^vould  be  good  for  the  soul.  When,  at  eve,  at  the 
boundary  of  the  landscape,  the  heaven  appears  to  re= 
cline  so  closely  on  the  earth,  imagination  pictures  be- 
yond the  horizon  an  asylum  of  hope,  a  native  land  of 
love,  and  Nature  seems  silently  to  repeat  that  man  is 
immortal. 

The  continual  succession  of  birth  and  death,  of  which 
the  natural  world  is  the  theatre,  would  produce  the 
iiiost  mournful  impression,  if  we  did  not  fancy  we  saw 
in  that  world  the  indication  of  the  resurrection  of  all 
things  ;  and  it  is  the  truly  religious  point  of  view  in  the 
contemplation  of  Nature,  to  regard  it  in  this  manner. 
We  snould  end  by  dying  of  compassion,  if  we  were 
confined  in  every  thing  to  the  terrible  idea  of  what  is 
irreparable  :  no  animal  perishes  without  our  feeling 
it  possible  to  regret  it  ;  no  tree  falls  without  the  idea 
that  we  shall  never  see  it  again  in  its  beauty,  exciting 
in  us  a  mournful  reflection.  In  a  word,  inanimate  ob- 
jects themselves  affect  us  when  their  decay  obliges  us 
to  quit  them  :  the  house,  the  chaii',  the  table,  which 
have  been  used  by  those  we  loved,  interest  us  ;  and 
these  objects  even  excite  in  us  sometimes  a  sort  of 
confipassion,  independent  of  the  recollections  which 
they  awaken  ;  we  regret  their  well-known  form,  as  if 
by  this  form  they  were  made  into  beings  who  have  seen 

VOL.  II.  D  i 


326 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


our  daily  life,  and  who  ought  to  have  seen  us  die.  If 
eternity  was  not  the  antidote  to  time,  we  should  attach 
ourselves  to  every  moment  in  order  to  retain  it  ;  to 
every  sound,  to  prolong  its  vibrations  ;  to  every  look, 
to  fix  its  radiance  ;  and  our  enjoyments  would  only 
last  for  that  instant  which  is  necessary  to  make  us  feel 
that  they  are  going,  and  to  bedew  their  traces  with 
tears,  traces  which  the  abyss  of  days  must  also  swal  = 
low  up. 

A  new  thought  struck  me  in  some  writings  which 
%vere  communicated  to  me  by  an  author  of  a  pensive 
and  profound  imagination  :  he  is  comparing  the  ruins 
of  nature  with  those  of  art,  and  of  the  human  species. 
"  The  lirst,'*  he  says,  "  are  philosophical  ;  the  second 

poetical  ;  the  third  mysterious/'  A  thing  highly 
•worthy  of  remark,  in  fact,  is  the  very  different  action 
of  years  upon  nature,  upon  the  works  of  genius,  and 
upon  living  creatures.  Time  injures  man  alone  :  when 
rocks  are  overturned,  when  mountains  sink  into  val= 
lies,  the  earth  only  changes  her  appearance  ;  her  new 
aspect  excites  new  thoughts  in  our  minds,  and  the  viv- 
ifying force  undergoes  a  metamorphose,  but  not  a  de» 
struction.  The  ruins  of  the  fine  arts  address  the  im- 
agination :  Art  rebuilds  what  time  has  defaced,  and 
never  perhaps,  did  a  master-piece  of  art,  in  all  its 
splendour,  impress  us  with  such  grand  ideas  as  its 
own  ruins.  We  picture  to  ourselves  half-destroyed 
monuments  adorned  with  all  that  beauty  which  ever 
clothes  the  objects  of  our  regret :  but  howdifFercRt  is 
this  from  the  ravages  of  old  age  ! 

Scarcely  can  we  believe  that  youth  once  embellished 
that  countenance,  of  which  death  has  already  seized 
possession  :  some  physiognomies  escape  degradation 
by  the  lustre  of  the  soul ;  but  the  human  figure,  in  its 
decline,  often  assumes  a  vulgar  expression  which  hard- 
ly  allows  even  of  pity.  Animals,  it  is  true,  lose  their 
strength  and  their  activity  with  years,  but  the  glowing 
hue  of  life  does  not  with  them  change  into  livid 
colours,  and  their  dim  eyes  do  not  resemble  funeral 
lamps,  throwing  their  pallid  flashes;  oyer  a  withered 
cheek. 


CONTEMPLATION  OF  NATURE. 


327 


E\'en  when,  in  the  flower  of  age,  life  is  withdrawn 
from  the  bosom  of  man,  neither  the  admiration  excited 
by  the  convulsions  of  nature,  nor  the  interest  awa- 
kened by  the  wreck  of  monuments,  can  be  made  to 
belong  to  the  inanimate  corpse  of  the  most  lovely  of 
created  beings.  The  love  which  cherished  this  enchant- 
ing form,  love  itself,  cannot  eydure  the  remains  of  it 
and  nothing  of  man  exists  after  him  on  earth  but  what 
makes  even  his  friends  tremble. 

Ah  !  what  a  lesson  do  the  horrors  of  destruction 
thus  incarnate  in  the  human  race  afTord  I  Is  not  this  to 
announce  to  man  that  his  life  is  to  be  elsewhere  I 
Would  nature  humble  him  so  low,  if  the  Divinity 
were  not  willing  to  raise  him  up  again  ? 

The  true  final  causes  of  nature  are  these  relations 
with  our  soul  and  our  immortal  destiny.  Physical  ob- 
jects themselves  have  a  destination  which  is  not 
bounded  by  the  contracted  existence  of  man  below  ; 
they  are  placed  here  to  assist  in  the  development  of 
our  thoughts  to  the  work  cf  our  moral  life.  The 
phsenoraena  of  nature  must  not  be  understood  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  matter  alone,  however  w^ell  com- 
bined those  laws  may  be  ;  they  have  a  philosophical 
sense  and  a  religious  end,  of  which  the  most  attentive 
contemplation  will  never  knov/the  CMteBt. 


32S  EE-LIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM^ 


CHAPTER  X, 

Of  EnthuBiasiii. 


IWANY  people  are  prejudiced  against  Enthusiasm  3 
they  confound  it  with  Fanaticism,  which  is  a  great  mis- 
take. Fanaticism  is  an  exclusive  passion,  the  object 
of  which  is  an  opinion  ;  enthusiasm  is  connected  with 
the  harmony  of  the  universe :  it  is  the  love  of  the 
beautiful,  eievaiion  of  soul,  enjoyment  of  devotion, 
all  united  in  one  single  feeling  which  combines  gran- 
deur and  repose.  The  sense  of  this  word  amongst 
the  Greeks  affords  the  noblest  definition  of  it :  enthU" 
siasm  signifies  God  in  ns.  In  fact,  when  the  existence 
of  man  is  expansive,  it  has  something  divine. 

Whatever  leads  us  to  sacrifice  our  own  comfort,  or 
our  ovvU  life,  is  ahnost  always  enthusiasm  ;  for  the 
high  road  of  reason,  to  the  seiiish,  must  be  to  make 
themselves  tiie  object  of  all  their  eiTorts,  and  to  value 
riothing  in  the  world  but  health,  riches,  and  power. 
Without  doubt,  conscience  is  sufBcient  to  lead  the 
coldest  character  into  the  track  of  virtue  ;  but  enthu- 
siasm is  to  conscience  what  honour  is  to  duty :  there 
is  in  us  a  superliCiity  of  soul  which  it  is  sv/eet  to  con- 
secrate to  what  is  fine,  %vhen  vv'hat  is  good  has  been 
accomplished.  Genius  and  imagination  also  stand  in 
need  of  a  little  care  for  their  welfare  in  the  world  ; 
mid  the  law  of  duty,,  however  sublime  it  may  be,  is 
not  sufficient  to  enable  us  to  taste  all  the  wonders  of 
the  heart,  and  of  the  thought. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  his  own  interests,  as  an  in- 
dividual, surround  a  r/ian  on  ail  sides  ;  there  is  even 
in  what  is  vulgar  a  certain  enjoyment,  of  which  many 
people  are  very  susceptible,  and  the  traces  of  ignoble 
passions  are  often  found  under  the  appearance  of  the 
most  distinguished  manners.  Superior  talents  are  not 
always  a  guarantee  against  that  degradation  of  nature 


329 


which  disposes  blindly  of  the  existence  of  men,  and 
leads  them  to  place  their  happiness  lower  than  them- 
selves. Enthusiasm  alone  can  counterbalance  the  ten- 
dency to  selfishness;  and  it  is  by  this  divine  sign  that 
^ve  recognise  the  creatures  of  immortality.  When 
you  speak  to  any  one  on  subjects  worthy  of  holy  re- 
spect, you  perceive  at  once  if  he  feels  a  noble  trem- 
bling; if  his  heart  beats  with  elevated  sentiments  ;  if 
he  has  formed  an  alliance  with  the  other  life,  or  if  he 
has  only  that  little  portion  of  mind  which  serves  him 
to  direct  the  mechanism  of  existence.  And  what  then 
is  human  nature  when  we  see  in  it  nothing  but  a  pru- 
dence, of  which  its  own  advantage  is  the  object  ?  The 
instinct  of  animals  is  of  more  worth,  for  it  is  some- 
times generous  and  proud;  but  this  calculation,  which 
seems  the  attribute  of  reason,  ends  by  rendering  us 
incapable  of  the  first  of  virtues,  self-devotion. 

Amongst  those  who  endeavour  to  turn  exalted  sen- 
timents into  ridicule,  many  are,  nevertheless,  suscep= 
tible  of  them.,  though  unknown  to  themselves.  War. 
undertaken  with  personal  views,  always  affords  some 
of  the  enjoyments  of  enthusiasm;  the  transport  of  a 
day  of  battle,  the  singular  pleasure  of  exposing  our- 
selves to  death,  when  our  whole  nature  would  enjoin 
to  us  the  iove  of  life,  can  only  be  attributed  to  enthu- 
siasm. The  martial  music,  the  neighing  oi  the  steeds, 
the  roar  of  the  cannon,  the  multitude  of  soldiers  cloth- 
ed in  the  same  colours,  moved  by  the  same  desire,  as- 
sembled around  the  same  banners,  inspire  an  emotion 
capable  of  triumphing  over  that  instinct  wnich  would 
preserve  existence  ;  and  so  strong  is  this  enjoyment, 
that  neither  fatigues,  nor  sufferings,  nor  dangers,  can 
withdraw  the  soul  from  it.  Whoever  has  once  led 
this  life  loves  no  other.  The  attainment  of  our  object 
never  satisfies  us;  it  is  the  action  of  risking  ourselves, 
which  is  necessary,  it  is  that  which  introduces  enthu- 
siasm hito  the  blood ;  and  although  it  may  be  more 
pure  at  the  bottom  of  the  soul,  it  is  still  of  a  noble 
nature,  when  it  is  able  to  become  an  impuise  almcst 
pi^ysical. 

Sincere  enthusiasm  is  often  reproached  with  VTh?.t 
VOL,  I?.-  D  d  2 


330  RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


belongs  only  to  affected  enthusiasm  ;  the  nacre  pure  a 
sentiment  is,  the  more  odious  is  a  false  imitation  of  it. 
To  tyrannize  over  the  admiration  of  men  is  what  is 
most  culpable,  for  we  dry  up  in  them  the  source  of 
good  emotions  when  we  make  them  blush  for  having 
felt  them.  Besides,  nothing  is  more  painful  than  the 
false  sounds,  which  appear  to  proceed  from  the  sanctu- 
ary of  the  soul  itself:  vanity  may  possess  herself  of 
whatever  is  external ;  conceit  and  disgrace  are  the  on- 
ly evils  Vv'hich  will  result  from  it;  but  when  she  coun- 
terfeits our  inward  feelings,  she  appears  to  violate  the 
last  asylum  in  which  we  can  hope  to  escape  her.  It  ia 
easy,  nevertheless,  to  discover  sincerity  in  enthusiasm  ; 
it  is  a  melody  so  pure,  that  the  smallest  discord  de- 
stroys its  whole  charm;  a  word,  an  accent,  a  look, 
express  the  concentrated  emotion  which  answers  to  a 
whole  life.  Persons  w^ho  are  called  severe  in  the  world, 
very  often  have  in  them  something  exalted.  The 
sLrcngth  which  reduces  others  to  subjection  may  be 
ijO  more  than  cold  calculation.  The  strength  which 
triumphs  over  ourselves  is  always  inspired  by  a  gene- 
rous sentiment. 

Enthusiasm,  far  from  exciting  a  just  suspicion  oT 
Us  excesses,  perhaps  leads  in  general  to  a  contempla- 
live  disposition,  which  impairs  the  power  of  acting : 
the  Germans  are  a  proof  of  it;  no  nation  is  more  ca- 
pable of  feeling  or  thinking  ;  but  when  the  moment  of 
taking  a  side  is  arrived,  the  very  extent  of  their  con- 
ceptions detracts  from  the  decision  of  their  character, 
X'haracter  and  enthusiasm  differ  in  many  respects ;  we 
fjught  to  choose  our  object  by  enthusiasm,  but  to  ap- 
proach it  by  character  :  thought  is  nothing  without  en« 
iiiusiasm,  and  action  without  character ;  enthusiasm 
is  every  thing  for  literary  nations,  character  is  every 
thing  to  those  which  are  active  :  free  nations  stand  in 
•need  of  both. 

Selfishness  takes  pleasure  in  speaking  incessantly 
i  of  the  dangers  of  enthusiasm  ;  this  affected  fear  is  ia 
truth  derision  ;  if  the  cunning  men  of  the  world  would 
be  sincere,  they  would  say,  that  nothing  suits  thcni 
better  than  to  have,  to  do  with  persons  with  wh©m  st) 


ENTHUSIASM. 


331 


many  means  are  impossible,  and  who  can  so  easily  re« 
nounce  what  occupies  the  greater  pari  of  mankind. 

This  disposition  of  the  mind  has  streno-th,  notwith- 
standing its  sweetness;  and  he  who  feels  it  knows  how 
to  draw  from  it  a  noble  constancy.  Tiie  storms  of  the 
passions  subside,  the  pleasures  of  self-love  fade  away, 
enthusiasm  alone  is  unalterable  ;  the  mind  itself  would 
be  lost  in  physical  existence,  if  something  proud  and 
animated  did  not  snatch  it  away  from  the  vulgar  ascen- 
dency of  selfishness  :  that  moral  dignity,  which  is 
proof  against  all  attempts,  is  what  is  most  admirable 
in  the  gift  of  existence  ;  it  is  for  this  that  in  the  bitter- 
est  pains  it  is  still  noble  to  have  lived  as  it  would  be 
Doble  to  die. 

Let  us  nov/  examine  the  influence  of  enthusiasm 
upon  learning  and  happiness.  These  last  reflections 
will  terminate  the  train  of  thoughts  to  which  the  dif-* 
ierent  subjects  that  I  h:\d  to  discuss  have  led  mc. 


332 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM,?, 


CHAPTER  XL 

Of  the  Injluence  of  Enthusiasm  on  Learrdnc^.. 


This  chapter  is,  in  some  respects,  the  recapitula- 
tion of  my  whole  work  ;  for  enthusiasm  being  the  qual« 
ity  which  really  distinguishes  the  German  nation,  we 
may  judge  of  the  influence  it  exerts  over  learning, 
according  to  the  progress  of  human  nature  in  Ger» 
many.  Enthusiasm  gives  life  to  what  is  invisible, 
and  interest  to  what  has  no  immediate  action  on  our 
comfort  in  this  world;  no  sentiment,  therefore,  is 
more  adapted  to  the  pursuit  of  abstract  truths  ;  they 
are,  therefore,  cultivated  in  Germany  with  a  remark- 
able ardour  and  firmness. 

The  philosophers  who  are  inspired  by  enthusiasm 
are  those,  perhaps,  who  have  the  most  exactness  and 
patience  in  their  labours,  and  at  the  same  tiiv.e  those 
who  the  least  endeavour  to  shine ;  they  love  science 
for  itself,  and  set  no  value  upon  themselves,  when 
the  object  of  their  pursuit  is  in  question  :  physical 
nature  pursues  its  own  invariable  march  over  the 
destruction  of  individuals ;  the  tliought  of  man  as* 
sumes  a  sublime  character  when  it  arrives  at  the 
power  of  examining  itself  from  an  universal  point  of 
view  ;  it  then  si;entiy  assists  the  triumphs  of  truth, 
and  truth  is,  like  nature,  a  force  %vhich  acts  only  by  a 
progressive  and  regular  development. 

It  may  be  said,  with  some  reason,  that  enthusiasm- 
leads  to  a  systematizing  spirit ;  when  we  ^re  much 
attached  to  our  ideas,  we  endeavour  to  connect  every 
thing  with  them  ;  but,  in  general,  it  is  easier  to  deal 
■with  sincere  opinions,  than  with  opinions  adopted 
through  vanity.  If,  in  our  relations  with  men,  we 
had  to  do  only  v/ith  v/hat  ttiey  reaiiy  think,  we  should 
easily  understand  one  another ;  it  is  wnat  they  affect- 
to  think  that  breeds  discord. 


INFLUENCE  OF  ENTHUSIASM,  &c. 


333 


Enthusiasm  has  been  often  accused  of  leacUn^  to 
error,  but  perhaps  a  superficial  interest  is  much  more 
deceitful ;  for,  to  penetrate  the  essence  of  things,  it 
is  necessary  tuere  should  be  an  impulse  to  excite  our 
attention  to  t  .em  with  ardour.  Besides,  in  consider- 
in^^  human  destiny  in  general,  I  believe  it  may  be  af- 
firmed that  we  shall  never  arrive  at  truth,  but  by 
elevation  of  soul  ;  every  thing  that  tends  to  lower  us 
is  falsehood,  and  whatever  they  may  say  of  it,  the  er- 
ror lies  on  the  side  of  vulgar  sentiments. 

Enthusiasm,  I  repeat,  has  no  resemblance  to  fanati- 
cism, and  cannot  mislead  as  it  does.  Enthusiasm  is 
tolerant,  not  through  indifference,  but  because  it 
makes  us  feel  the  Interest  and  the  beauty  of  all  things. 
Reason  does  not  give  happiness  in  the  place  of 
that  which  it  deprives  us  of;  enthusiasm  finds  in  the 
musing  of  the  heart,  and  in  depth  of  thougiit,  what 
fanaticism  and  passion  comprise  in  a  single  idea,  or 
a  single  object.  This  sentimerit,  on  account  even  of 
its  universality,  is  very  favourable  to  thought  and  to 
imagination. 

Society  developes  wit,  but  it  is  contemplation  alone 
that  forms  genius.  Self-love  is  the  spring  of  coun- 
tries v.'here  society  prevails,  and  self-love  necessarily 
kads  to  jesting,  which  destroys  all  enthusiasm. 

It  is  amusing  enough,  it  cannot  be  denied,  to  have 
a  quick  perception  of  what  is  ridiculous,  and  to  paint 
it  with  grace  and  gaiety  ;  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to 
deny  ourselves  this  pleasure,  but,  nevertheless,  that 
is  not  the  kind  of  jesting  the  consequences  of  which 
are  the  most  to  be  f  ;ared  ;  that  which  is  attached  to 
ideas  and  to  sentiments  is  the  most  fatal  of  ail,  for  it 
insinuates  itself  into  the  source  of  strong  and  devoted 
affections.  Man  has  a  great  empire  over  man  ;  and 
of  all  the  evils  he  can  do  to  his  fellow-creature,  the 
greatest  perhaps  is  to  place  the  phantoms  of  ridicule 
between  generous  emotions  and  the  actions  they  would 
inspire. 

Love,  genius,  talent,  distress  itself,  all  these  sa- 
cred things  are  exposed  to  irony,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  calculate  to  what  point  the  emjiire  of  this  irony 


334 


REUGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


may  extend.  There  is  a  relish  in  wickedness  :  there 
is  something  weak  in-  goodness.  Admiration  for  great 
things  may  be  made  the  sport  of  wit ;  and  he  who  at- 
taches no  importance  to  any  thing,  has  the  air  of  being 
superior  to  everything;  if  therefore,  our  heart  and 
our  mind  are  not  defended  by  enthusiasm,  they  ai e  ex- 
posed on  all  sides  to  be  surprised  by  this  darkest 
shade  of  the  beautiful,  which  unites  insolence  to 
gaiety. 

The  social  spirit  is  so  formed  that  we  are  often  com- 
manded to  laugh,  and  much  oftener  are  made  ashamed 
of  weeping  :  from  what  does  this  proceed  ?  From  this, 
that  self-love  thinks  itself  safer  in  pleasantry  than  in 
emotion.  A  man  must  be  able  to  rely  well  on  his  wit 
before  he  can  dare  to  be  serious  against  a  jest ;  it  re- 
quires much  strength  to  disclose  sentiments  which 
maybe  turned  into  ridicule.    Fontenelle  said,  "  lam 

eighty  years  old;  lama  Frenchman^  and  I  have 

never,  through  all  my  life^  treated  the  smallest  vir^ 
"  tue  with  the  smallest  ridicule.'*  This  sentence  ar- 
gued a  profound  knowledge  of  society.  Fontenelle 
was  not  a  sensible  man,  but  he  had  a  great  deal  of 
wit ;  and  whenever  a  man  is  endowed  with  any  superi- 
ority, he  feels  the  necessity  of  seriousness  in  human 
nature.  It  is  only  persons  of  middling  understanding 
who  would  wish  that  the  foundation  of  every  thing  should 
be  sand,  in  order  that  no  man  might  leave  upon  the 
earth  a  trace  more  durable  than  their  own. 

The  Germans  have  not  to  struggle  amongst  them- 
selves against  the  enemies  of  enthusiasm,  which  is  a 
great  obstacle  at  least  to  distinguished  men.  Wit 
grows  sharper  by  contest,  but  talent  has  need  of  con- 
fidence. It  is  necessary  to  expect  admiration,  glory, 
immortality,  in  order  to  experience  the  inspiration  of 
genius;  and  what  makes,  the  distinction  between  dif- 
ferent ages  is  not  nature,  which  is  always  lavish  of  the 
same  gifts,  but  the  opinion  v/hich  prevails  at  the  epoch 
in  which  we  live  :  if  the  tendency  of  that  opinion  is 
towards  enthusiasm,  great  men  spring  up  on  all 
sides  ;  if  discouragement  is  proclaimed  in  one  coun- 
try, wbea  ia  others  noble  efforts  would  be  excited. 


INFLUENCE  OF  ENTHUSIASM,  See.  335 


nothing  remains  in  literature  but  judges  of  the  time 
past. 

The  terrible  events  of  which  we  have  been  witnes- 
ses have  dried  up  men's  hearts,  and  every  thine-  that 
belongs  to  thought  appeared  tarnished  by  the  side  of 
the  omnipotence  of  action.  Difference  of  circumstan- 
ces has  led  minds  to  support  all  sides  of  the  same  ques- 
tions ;  the  consequence  has  been,  that  people  no  long- 
er believe  in  ideas,  or  consider  them,  at  best,  as  means. 
Conviction  does  not  seem  to  belong  to  our  times  ;  and 
when  a  man  says  he  is  of  such  an  opinion,  that  is  un- 
derstood to  be  a  delicate  manner  of  expressing  that  he 
has  such  an  interest. 

The  most  honest  men,  then,  make  to  themselves 
a  system  which  changes  their  idleness  into  digni- 
ty :  they  say  that  nothing  can  be  done  with  nothing ; 
they  repeat,  with  the  Hermit  of  Prague,  in  Shaks- 
peare,  that  what  is,  is,  and  that  theories  have  no  influ- 
ence on  the  world.  Such  men  leave  off  with  making 
what  they  say  true;  for  with  such  a  mode  of  thinking  they 
cannot  act  upon  others  ;  and  if  wit  consisted  in  seeing 
the  Jbr  and  against  of  every  subject,  it  would  make 
the  objects,  which  encompass  us  turn  round  in  such  a 
manner  that  we  couid  not  walk  with  a  firm  step  upon 
this  tottering  ground. 

We  also  see  young  people,  ambitious  of  appearing?: 
free  from  all  enthusiasm,  affect  a  philosophical  contempt 
for  exalted  sentiments  ;  they  think  by  that  to  display  a 
precocious  force  of  reason  :  but  it  is  a  premature  de* 
cay  of  v/hich  they  are  boasting.  They  treat  talent 
like  the  old  man  who  asked,  if  Love  still  existed  P 
The  mind  deprived  of  imagination  would  gladly  treat 
even  Nature  with  disdain,  if  Nature  were  not  too 
strong  for  it. 

We  certainly  do  great  n  ischief  to  those  persons 
who  are  yei  animated  with  noble  desires,  by  incessant- 
ly opposing  them  with  all  the  argument  which  can  dis- 
turb tlie  most  confiding  hope  ;  nevertheless,  good  taith 
cannot  grow  weary  of  itself,  for  it  is  not  the  appear- 
ance, but  the  reality  of  things  which  employs  her 
With  whatever  atmosphere  we  may  be  surrounded,  a 


336 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


sincere  "word  was  never  completely  lost  ;  if  there  is 
but  one  day  on  which  success  can  be  gained,  there  are 
ages  for  the  operation  of  thd  good  which  may  be  done 
by  truth. 

The  inhabitants  of  Mexico,  as  they  pass  along  the 
great  road,  each  of  them  carry  a  small  stone  to  the 
grand  pyramid  which  they  are  raising  in  the  midst  of 
their  country.  No  mdividual  will  confer  his  name  up- 
on it  :  but  all  will  have  ccntiibuted  to  this  monument, 
"Nvhich  must  survive  them  ail. 


INPLUENCE  OF  ENTHUSIASM. 


337 


CHAPTER  XII.  AND  LAST. 

Of  the  Injiuenct  of  Enthusiasm  ufioii  Happiness.. 


The  course  of  my  subject  necessarily  leads  Tiie here 
to  treat  of  hap.jiness.  I  have  hitherto  stuciiousiy 
avoided  the  word,  because  now  for  almost  a  century  it 
has  been  the  cu^atom  to  place  it  principaliy  in  pleasures 
so  -^ross,  in  a  wdv  of  life  so  selfish,  in  calculations  so 
narrow  and  ccnfiaed,  that  its  very  image  is  sullied  and 
profaned.  It,  howover,  may  be  pronounced  with  con- 
fidence, that  of -ail  ihe  feelings  of  the  human  heart 
enthusiasm  confers  the  greatest  happiness,  that  indeed 
it  alone  confers  real  happiness,  alone  can  enable  us  to 
bear  the  lot  of  mortality  in  every  situ?vtion  in  which  for- 
tune has  the  power  to  place  us. 

Vainly  would  we  reduce  ourselves  to  sensual  enjoy- 
ments  ;  the  soul  asserts  itself  on  every  side.  Pride, 
ambition,  self-love,  all  these  are  still  from  the  soul,  al- 
though in  them  a  poisonous  and  pestilential  blast  mixes 
with,  its  essence.  Meanwhile,  how  wretched  is  the  ex- 
istence of  that  crowd  of  mortals,  who,  playing  the 
hypocrite  with  themselves  almost  as  much  as  with 
others,  are  continually  em.ployed  in  repressing  the 
generous  emotions  which  struggle  to  revive  within 
their  bosoms,  as  diseases  of  the  imagination,  which 
the  open  air  should  at  once  dispel.  Hov/  impoverish- 
ed is  the  existence  of  those,  who  content  themselves 
with  abstaining  from  doing  evil,  and  treat  as  weakness 
and  delusion  the  source  of  the  most  beautiful  deeds 
and  the  most  noble  conceptions  1  From  mere  vanity 
they  imprison  themselves  in  obstinate  mediocrity, 
-which  they  might  easily  have  opened  to  the  light  of 
knowledge,  which  every  where  surrounds  them  ;  they 
sentence  and  condemn  themselves  to  that  monotony  oi 
ideas,  to  that  deadness  of  feeling,  which  suffers  the 
days  to  pass,  one  after  the  other,  \vithout  deriving  from 

VOL.  II.  E  e 


338 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


them  any  advantage,  without  making  in  them  any  pro 
gress,  without  treasuring  up  any  matter  for  future  re- 
collection. If  time  in  its  course  had  not  cast  a  change 
upon  their  features,  what  proofs  would  they  have  pre- 
served of  its  having  passed  at  all  ?  If  to  grow  old  and 
to  die  were  not  the  necessary  law  of  our  nature,  what 
serious  reflections  would  ever  have  arisen  in  their 
minds  ? 

Some  reasoners  there  are,  who  object  that  enthusi» 
asm  produces  a  distaste  for  ordinary  life  ;  and  that  aii 
we  cannot  always  remain  in  the  same  frame  of  mind, 
it  is  more  for  our  advantage  never  to  indulge  it :  and 
why  then,  I  would  ask  them,  have  they  accepted  the 
gift  of  truth,  why  of  life  itself,  since  tkey  well  knew  that 
they  were  not  to  last  forever  ?  Wny  have  they  loved  (if 
indeed  they  ever  have  loved),  since  death  at  any  mo- 
ment might  separate  them  from  the  objects  of  their 
affection  ?  Can  there  be  a  more  wretched  economy  than 
of  the  faculties  of  the  soul?  They  were  given  us  to  be 
improved  and  expanded,  to  be  carried  as  near  as  pos- 
sible to  perfection,  even  to  be  prodigally  lavished  for  a 
high  and  noble  end. 

The  more  we  benumb  our  feelings  and  render  our- 
selves insensible,  the  nearer^it  will  be  said)  we  approach 
to  a  state  of  material  existence,  and  the  more  we  (li» 
minish  the  dominion  of  pain  and  sorrow  over  us.  This 
argument  imposes  upon  many  ;  it  consists,  in  fact,  in 
recommending  to  us  to  make  an  attempt  to  live  with 
as  little  of  life  as  possible.  But  our  own  degradation 
is  always  accompanied  by  an  uneasiness  of  mind,  for 
which  we  cannot  account,  and  which  unremittingly  at- 
tends upon  us  in  secret.  The  discontent,  the  shame^ 
and  the  weariness,  which  it  causes,  are  arranged  by  van- 
ity in  the  garb  of  impertinence  and  contempt  ;  but  it 
is  very  rare  that  any  man  can  settle  peaceably  in  this 
confined  and  desert  sphere  of  being,  which  leaves  him 
without  resource  in  himself  when  he  is  abandoned  by 
the  prosperity  of  the  woHd.  Man  has  a  consciousness 
of  the  beautiful  as  well  as  of  the  virtuous ;  and  in  the 
absence  of  the  former  he  feels  a  void,  as  in  a  deviation 
from  the  latter  he  finds  remorse^ 


kVFLUENCE  OF  ENTHUSIASM. 


331^ 


It  is  a  comi"noD  accusation  against  enthusiasm,  that  il 
is  transitory  ;  man  were  too  much  blessed,  if  he  could 
fix  and  retain  emotions  so  beautiful  ;  but  it  is  because 
they  are  so  easily  dissipated  and  lost,  that  we  should 
strive  and  exert  ourselves  to  preserve  them.  Poetry 
and  the  fine  arts  are  the  means  of  calling  forth  in  man 
this  happiness  of  illustrious  origin,  ^Yhich  raises  the 
depressed  heart ;  and,  iriStead  of  an  unquiet  satiety  of 
life,  gives  an  habitual  feeling  of  thiC  divine  harmony,  in 
which  nature  and  ourselves  claim  a  part. 

There  is  no  duty,  there  is  no  pleasure,  there  is  no 
sentiment,  which  does  not  borrow  from  enthusiasm  I 
know  not  what  charm,  which  is  still  in  perfect  unison 
with  the  simple  beauty  of  truth. 

Ail  men  take  up  arms  indeed  for  the  defence  of  the 
land  which  they  inhabit,  when  circumstances  demand 
this  duty  of  them  :  but  if  they  a.re  inspired  by  the  en- 
thusiasm, of  their  country,  what  warm  emolioiis  do  they 
not  feel  within  them  ?  The  s-m,  which  shone  upon 
their  birth,   the  land  of"!  :  ers,  the  sea  v.hich 

bathes  their  rocks,*  thei.  recoliectior.s  of  the 

past,  their  mjany  hoped  for  the  future,  every  thing 
around  them  presents  itself  as  a  summons  and  encour- 
agement for  battle,  and  in  every  pulsation  of  the  heart 
rises  a  thought  of  affection  and  of  honour.  God  has 
given  this  country  to  men  who  can  defend  it ;  to  wom.en, 
%7ho,  for  its  sake,  consent  to  the  dangers  of  their 
brothers,  their  husbands,  and  their  sons.  At  the  ap- 
:>roach  of  the  perils  which  threaten  it,  a  fever,  exempt 
irom  shuddering  as  from  delirium,  quickens  the  blood 
-'n  the  veins.  Every  effort,  in  such  a  struggle,  comes 
from  the  deepest  source  of  inward  thought.  As  yet 
fcthing  can  be  seen  in  tiie  features  of  these  generous 
Bpizens  but  tranquility  ;  tliere  is  too  much  dignity  in 
uieir  emotions  f^r  outv/ard  demonstration  ;  but  let  the 
•^signal  once  be  heard,  let  the  banner  of  their  country 

^  It  is  easy  to  perceh'e,  that  by  this  plirase,  and  by  those 
which  follow,  I  have  been  trying  to  designate  England  ;  mfuct, 
I  coidd  not  spe.ik  of  war  with  enthusiasm,  without  represent- 
hig  iL  to  myself  as  the  contest  of  a  free  nation  for  her  inde- 
pendence. 


3iO 


IIELIGION  A^KD-  ENTHUSIASM. 


v/ave  in  the  air,  and  you  will  see  those  looks,  before  so 
f^eiitie,  and  so  ready  to  resume  that  character  at  the 
sig^ht  of  misfortune,  at  once  animated  by  a  determisia- 
tion  holy  and  terrible  !  They  shudder  no  more,  neither 
at  wounds  nor  at  blood  ;  it  is  no  longer  pain,  it  is  no 
longer  death,  it  is  an  offering  to  the  God  of  ar- 
mies ;  no  regret,  no  hesitation,  now  intrudes  itself 
into  the  most  desperate  resolutions  ;  and  when  the 
heart  is  entirely  in  its  object,  then  is  the  highest  en- 
joyment of  existence  !  As  soon  as  man  has,  within  his 
own  mind,  separated  himself  from  himself,  to  him  life 
is  only  an  evil ;  and  if  it  be  true,  that  of  all  the  feel- 
ings  enthusiasm  confers  the  greatest  happiness,  it  is 
because,  more  than  any  other,  it  unites  all  the  forces  of 
the  soul  in  the  same  direction  for  the  same  end. 

The  labours  of  the  understanding  are  considered 
by  many  writers  as  an  occupation  almost  merely  me- 
chanical, and  which  fills  up  their  life  in  the  same  m<an- 
ner  as  any  other  profession.  It  is  still  something  that 
their  choice  has  fallen  upon  literature  ^  but  have  such 
men  even  an  idea  of  the  sublime  happiness  of  thought 
■^.vhen  it  is  animated  by  enthusiasm  ?  Do  they  know  the 
hope  which  penetrates  the  soul,  when  there  arises  m 
it  the  confident  belief,  that  by  the  gift  of  eloquence 
we  are  about  to  demonstrate  andxleclare  some  profound 
truth,  some  truth  which  v/ill  be  at  once  a  generous 
bon-d  of  union  between  us  and  every  soul  that  sympa- 
■-hizes  with  ours  ? 

Writers  without  enthusiasm^  know  of  the  career  of 
literature  nothing  but  the  criticisms,  the  reviling^  the 
iealousies  which  attend  upon  it,  and  which  necessarily 
must  endanger  our  peace  of  mind,  if  we  allow  our- 
selves to  be  entangled  amongst  the  passions  of  men. 
Unjust  attacks  of  this  nature  may,  indeed,  sometimes 
do  us  injury  ;  but  the  true,  ihe  heartfelt  internal  enjo^^i'' 
nient  wiiich  belongs  to  talent,  cannot  be  aifected  by 
them.  Even  at  the  moment  of  the  first  public  appear- 
ance of  a  work,  and  before  its  character  is  yet  decided, 
bow  many  hours  of  happiness  has  it  not  already  been 
worth  to  him  v/ho  wrote  it  from  his  heart,  and  as  <in 
act  and  OiTice  of  his  worship  !  How  many  tears  of  rap- 


INFLUENCE  OF  E^^^THUSIASM. 


341 


tare  lias  be  not  shed  in  bis  solitude  over  those  wonders 
of  life,  love,  glory,  aim  reli:<ion  ?  Has  he  not  in  bis 
transports,  enjoyed  the  air  of  heaven  like  a  bird  ;  the 
waters  like  a  thirsty  hunter;  the  flowers  like  a  lover, 
v/ho  believes  that  he  is  breathing  the  sweets  which  sur- 
round his  mistress  ?  In  the  world,  we  have  the  feeling 
of  being  oppressed  beneath  our  own  faculties,  and  we 
often  suffer  from  the  consciousness  that  we  are  the  on^ 
ly  one  of  our  own  disposition,  in  the  niidst  of  so  many 
beings,  who  exist  so  easily,  and  at  the  expense  of  so 
little  intellectual  exertion  ;  but  the  creative  talent  of 
imagination,  for  some  moments  at  least  satisfies  all 
our  vvishes  and  desires;  it  opens  to  us  treasures  of 
"'-vealth  ;  it  offers  to  us  crowns  of  glory;  it  raises  be- 
fore our  eyes  the  pure  and  bright  image  of  an  ideal 
world ;  and  so  mighty  sometimes  is  its  power,  that  by 
it  we  hear  in  our  hearts  the  very  voice  and  accents  of 
ijue  whom  we  have  loved. 

Does  he  v.'ho  is  not  endowed  with  an  enthusiastic- 
imagination  flatter  himself  that  he  is,  in  any  degree, 
acquainted  with  the  earth  upon  which  he  lives,  or  that 
he  has  travelled  through  any  of  its  various  countries  ? 
Does  his  heart  beat  at  the  echo  of  the  mountains  ?  or 
has  the  air  of  the  south  lulled  his  senses  in  its  volup- 
tuous softness  ?  Does  he  perceive  wherein  countries 
differ,  the  one  from  the  other  ?  Does  he  remark  the 
accent,  and  does  he  understand  the  peculiar  character 
of  the  idioms  of  their  languages  ?  Does  he  hear  in  the 
popular  song,  and  see  in  the  national  dance,  the  man- 
ners and  the  genius  of  the  people?  Does  one  single 
sensation  at  once  fUl  his  mind  with  a  crowd  of  recol- 
,>??!flilections  ? 

Ts  Nature  to  be  felt  without  enthusiasm  ?  Can  com- 
mon men  address  to  her  the  tale  of  their  mean  inter- 
ests and  low  desires  ?  What  have  the  sea  and  the  stars 
to  answer  to  the  little  vanities  with  which  each  individ- 
ual is  content  to  fill  up  each  day  ?  But  if  the  soul  be 
really  moved  within  us,  if  in  the  universe  it  seeks  a 
God,  even  if  it  be  still  sensible  to  glory  and  to  love, 
the  clouds  of  heaven  will  hold  converse  with  it,  the 
torrents  will  listen  to  its  voice,  and  the  breeze  that  pa?- 
^w..  IT,  E  e  3 


342 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM. 


ses  through  the  grove,  seems  to  deign  to  whisper  to 
us  something  of  those  we  love. 

There  are  some  who,  although  devoid  of  enthusi- 
asm, stiil  beiieve  that  they  have  a  taste  and  relish  for 
the  fine  arts  ;  and  indeed  they  do  love  the  refinement  of 
iuxury,  and  they  wish  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  music 
and  of  painting,  that  they  may  be  able  to  converse  up- 
on them  with  ease  and  with  taste,  and  even  with  that 
confidence  which  becomes  the  man  of  the  world,  when 
the  subject  turns  upon  imagination,  or  upon  Nature; 
but  what  are  these  barren  pleasures,  when  compared 
■with  true  enthusiasm  ?  What  an  emotion  runs  through 
the  brain  when  we  contemplate  in  the  Niobe,  that  set- 
tled look  of  calm  and  terrible  despair  which  seems  to 
reproach  the  gods  with  their  jealousy  of  her  maternal 
happiness  f  What  consolation  does  the  sight  of  beau- 
ty breathe  upon  us  !  Beauty  also  is  from  the  soul,  and 
pure  and  noble  is  the  admiration  it  inspires.  To  feel 
the  grandeur  of  the  Apollo  demands  in  the  spectator  a 
pride,  which  tramples  under  foot  all  the  serpents  of 
ihe  earth.  None  but  a  Christian  can  penetrate  the 
countenance  of  the  Virgins  of  Raphael,  and  the  St. 
Jerome  of  Domenichino.  None  but  a  Christian  can 
recognise  the  same  expression  in  fascinating  beauty, 
and  in  the  depressed  and  grief-v/orn  visage  ;  in  the 
brilliancy  of  youtli,  and  in  features  changed  by  age  and 
disfigured  by  suffering  ? — the  same  expression  v/hich 
springs  from  the  soul,  and  which,  like  a  ray  of  celes- 
tial light,  shoots  across  the  early  morning  of  life,  or 
the  closing  darkness  of  age  ! 

Can  it  be  said  that  there  is  such  an  art  as  that  of  mu- 
sic for  those  who  cannot  feel  enthusiasm  ?  Habit  m^f^ 
render  harmonious  sounds,  as  it  were,  a  necessary^^ 
gratification  to  them,  and  they  enjoy  them  as  they  d¥  ' 
the  flavour  of  fruits,  or  the  ornament  of  colours  ;  but 
has  their  whole  being  vibrated  and  trembled  respon-  • 
sively,  like  a  lyre,  if  at  any  time  the  midnight  silence 
has  been  suddenly  broken  by  the  song,  or  by  any  of 
those  instruments'  which  resemble  the  human  voice  I 
Have  they  in  that  moment  felt  the  mystery  of  their  ex- 
istence in  that  softening  emotion  Vi'hich  reunites  our- 


EVFLUEXCE  GP  ENTHUSIASM 


343 


separate  natures,  and  blends  in  the  same  enjoyment 
the  senses  of  the  soul  ?  Have  the  beatinirs  of  the  heart 
followed  the  cadence  of  the  music?  Have  they  learn- 
ed, under  the  influence  of  these  emotions  so  full  of 
charms,  to  shed  those  tears  which  have  nothing  of  self 
in  them  ;  those  tears  whicii  do  not  ask  for  the  compas- 
sion of  others,  but  which  relieve  ourselves  from  the 
inquietude  which  arises  from  the  need  of  something 
to  admire  and  to  love  ? 

The  taste  for  public  spectacles  is  universal,  for  the 
greater  part  of  mankind  have  more  imagination  than 
they  themselves  think  ;  and  that  which  they  consider  as 
the  allurement  of  pleasure,  as  a  remnant  of  the  weakness 
of  childhood  which  still  hanc^s  about  them,  is  often  the 
better  part  of  their  nature  :  while  they  are  beholding 
The  scenes  of  fictions,  they  are  true,  natural,  and  feel- 
ing ;  whereas  in  the  world,  dissimulation,  calculation 
and  vanity,  are  the  absolute  masters  of  their  words, 
sentiments,  and  actions.  But  do  they  think  that  they  have 
felt  all  that  a  really  fine  tragedy  can  inspire',  who  find 
in  the  representation  ofthe  strongest  aftections  nothing 
but  a  diversion  and  amusement  ?  Do  they  doubt  and 
disbelieve  that  rapturous  agitation,  which  the  passions, 
purified  by  poetry  excite  within  us  ?  Ah  i  how  many 
and  how  great  are  the  pleasures  which  spring  from  fic- 
tions !  The  interest  they  raise  is  without  either  appre- 
hension or  remorse  ;  and  the  sensibility  which  they 
call  forth,  has  none  of  that  painful  harshness  from 
which  real  passions  are  hardly  ever  exempt. 

What  enchantment  does  not  the  language  of  love 
borrow  from  poetry  and  the  fine  arts!  How  beautiful 
is  it  to  love  at  once  with  the  heart  and  with  the  mind  : 
thus  to  vary  in  a  thousand  fashions  a  sentiment  which 
ovit  word  is  indeed  sufficient  to  express,  but  for  which 
ail  the  words  of  tiie  world  are  but  poverty  and  weak- 
ness !  To  subiiUt  entirely  to  the  influence  of  those 
mastci  pieces  of  the  imagination,  which  all  depend  upon 
lovt,  and  to  discover  in  the  wonders  of  nature  and 
geidus  new  expressions  to  declare  the  feelings  of  our 
ov>'ii  heart ! 


314 


RELIGION  AND  ENTHUSIASM, 


What  Iiave  they  known  of  love,  who  have  not  revcr- 
cnced  and  admired  the  woman  whom  they  loved,  in 
whom  the  sentiment  is  not  a  hymn  breathed  IVom  the 
heart,  and  who  do  not  perceive  in  j^race  and  beauty  the 
heavenly  image  of  the  most  touching  passions  ?  What 
lias  she  felt  of  love,  who  has  not  seen  in  the  object  of  her 
choice  an  exalted  protector,  a  powerful  and  a  gentle 
guide,  whose  look  at  once  commands  and  supplicates, 
and  who  receives  upon  his  knees  the  right  of  disposing 
of  her  fate  ?  How  inexpressiblejs  the  delight  which  seri- 
ous reflections,  united  and  blended  with  warm  and  lively 
impressions,  produce  !  The  tenderness  of  a  friend,  in 
^vhose  hands  our  happiness  is  deposited,  ought  at  the 
?j;ates  of  the  tomb,  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the  beau- 
tiful days  of  our  youth,  to  form  our  chief  blessing ; 
and  every  thing  most  serious  and  solemn  in  our  exist- 
ence transforms  itself  into  emotions  of  delight ;  when, 
as  in  the  fable  of  the  ancients,  it  is  the  office  of  love  to 
light  and  to  extinguish  the  torch  of  life. 

If  enthusiasm  fills  the  soul  v/ith  happiness,  by  a 
strange  and  wondrous  charm,  it  forms  also  its  chief 
support  under  misfortune  ;  it  leaves  behind  it  a  deep 
trace  and  a  path  of  light,  which  do  not  allow  absence 
itself  to  efface  us  from  the  hearts  of  our  friends.  It  af- 
fords also  to  ourselves  an  asylum  from  the  utmost  bit- 
terness of  sorrow,  and  is  the  only  feeling  which  can 
give  tranquility  without  indifference. 

Even  tne  most  sim,ple  passions,  which  every  heart 
believes  itself  capable  of  feeling,  even  filial  and  mater- 
jtai  love,  cannot  be  feit  in  their  full  strength,  unless 
enthusiasm  be  blended  with  tliem.  How  can  we  love 
a  son  without  indulging  the  flattering  hope  that  he  will 
be  generous  and  gallant,  Avithout  wishing  him  that  re- 
nown which  may,  as  it  were,  multiply  his  existence, 
and  make  us  hear  from  every  side  the  name  which  our 
own  heart  is  continually  repealing  ?  Why  should  we 
not  enjoy  with  rapture  the  talents  of  a  son,  the  beauty 
of  a  daughter  ?  Can  there  be  a  more  strange  ingrati- 
tude towards  the  Deity,  than  indifference  for  his  gifts  ? 
Are  they  not  from  Heaven,  since  they  render  it  a  mors 
easy  task  for  us  to  please  him  whom  we  love  ? 


tX^LUEXCE  OF  EXTKUSIAM.  34c/ 

Meanwhile,  should  some  misfortune  cleprlve  our 
child  of  these  advantages,  the  same  sentiment  would 
then  assume  another  form  :  it  would  increase  and  ex- 
alt within  us  the  feeling  of  compassion,  of  sympathy, 
the  happiness  of  being  necessary  to  him.  Under  all 
circumstances,  enthusiasm  either  animates  or  con- 
soles ;  and  even  in  the  moment  when  the  blow,  the 
most  cruel  that  can  be  struck,  reaches  us,  when  v/e 
lose  him  to  whom  we  owe  our  own  being,  him  v.'hom 
we  loved  as  a  tutelary  angel,  and  who  inspired  us  at 
once  with  a  fearless  respect  and  a  boundless  confi- 
dence, still  enthusiasm  comes  to  our  assistance  and 
support.  It  brings  together  v/ithin  us  some  sparks  of 
that  soul  which  has  passed  away  to  heaven  ;  we  still 
live  before  him,  and  we  promise  ourselves  that  we  will 
one  day  transmit  to  posterity  the  history  of  his  life. 
Never,  we  feel  assured,  never  will  his  paternal  hand 
abandon  us  entirely  in  this  world  ;  and  his  image,  af- 
fectionate and  tender,  still  inclines  towards  us,  to  sup- 
port us,  until  we  are  called  unto  him. 

And  in  the  end,  when  the  hour  of  trial  comes,  \yhen 
it  is  for  us  in  our  turn  to  meet  the  struggle  of  death, 
the  increasing  weakness  of  our  faculties  ;  the  loss  and 
ruin  of  our  hopes  ;  this  life,  before  so  strong,  which 
now  begins  to  give  way  within  us  ;  the  crowd  of  feci- 
2ngs  and  ideas  which  lived  wilhin  our  bosom,  and  which 
the  shades  of  the  tomb  already  surround  c.,nd  envelope  ; 
our  interests,  our  passions,  this  existence  itself,  v/hich 
lessens  to  a  shadow,  before  it  vanishes  away,  all  deep  - 
ly distress  us  ;  and  the  common  man  appears,  when 
he  expires,  to  have  less  of  death  to  undergo.  Bles- 
sed be  God,  however,  for  the  assistance  which  he  has 
prepared  for  us  even  in  that  moment  ;  our  utterance 
shall  be  imperfect,  our  eyes  shall  n.o  longer  distinguish 
the  light,  our  reflections,  before  clear  and  connected, 
shall  wander  va -  ue  and  confused  ;  but  Enthusiasm 
wdll  not  abandon  us,  her  brillia.nt  wings  shall  wave  over 
the  funeral  couch  ;  she  will  lift  the  veil  of  death  ;  she 
v;ill  recall  to  our. recollection  those  m^oments,  when, 
in  the  fulness  of  energy,  we  felt  that  the  heart  was  im.- 
perishable  ;  and  our  last  sigh  shali  be  a  high  and  gen- 


346 


RELIGION  ANB  EXTHTjSIASl^r. 


erous  thought,  reascendiijg  to  that  heaven  from  "which 
it  had  its  birth. 

"  O  France  !  land  of  glory  and  of  love  !  if  the  day 
<^  should  ever  come  when  enthusiasm  shall  be  extinct 
"  upon  your  soil,  when  all  shall  be  governed  and  dis- 
<i  posed  upon  calculation,  and  even  the  contempt  of 
"  danger  shall  be  founded  only  upon  the  conclusions  of 

reason,  in  that  day  what  will  avail  you  the  loveliness 
"  of  your  climate,  the  splendour  of  your  intellect,  the 

general  fertility  of  your  nature  ?  Their  intelligent 
«  activity,  and  an  impetuosity  directed  by  prudence 
"  and  knowledge,  may  indeed  give  your  children  the 
"  empire  of  the  world ;  bat  the  only  traces  you  v^ili 
"  leave  on  the  face  of  that  world  will  be  like  those  of 

the  sandy  whirlpool,  terrible  as  the  waves,  and 
^*  sterile  as  the  desert*  I" 

■*  This  last  f:;enlcnce  Is  that  Vvhich  excited  in  the  French  po- 
lice the  greatest  indignation  against  niy  book.  It  seems  to  me. 
thitt  Frenchmen  rd  least  cumot  be  dis])leased  with  it. 


KND  OF  VOLUME  IL 


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